


Anchor

by RinoaDestiny



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fade to Black, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Sex, Iori headcanons, Light BL, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 23,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinoaDestiny/pseuds/RinoaDestiny
Summary: Kyo and Iori navigate the start of their new relationship together. A side story to "Life Line". (Kyo/Iori)
Relationships: Kusanagi Kyou/Yagami Iori
Kudos: 14





	1. Date

**Author's Note:**

> This is a side story (not exactly sequel) following the events of "Life Line". Slice of life here and I don't think there's going to be any story arcs. Just snippets of Kyo and Iori together exploring their newfound relationship.
> 
> _King of Fighters and all associated characters belong to SNK_
> 
> Also cross-posted on FFN.

"I…don't think that's necessary, Kyo," Iori said, furrowing his brow. "Everyone else does it, but we're not…"

"Everyone else?" The Kusanagi heir uncrossed his arms, pushing away from the door jamb. He strode into the bedroom, completely at ease and pulled Iori's chair away from the unadorned desk. Sat in it, arms folded over the top of the chair. "We don't have to make it complicated. It's a night out."

"A date, you mean."

"Is there a problem with that?"

"You. Me. It's…" Iori was never good with explaining emotional matters. "It's just…I don't feel…"

"Comfortable with it?"

"We used to be rivals, Kusanagi. Can't just…"

"We don't have to do the fancy stuff, you know. What about a concert and a quiet dinner afterwards?"

"That's a date," Iori stated, unsure why Kyo failed to see his concern. While he couldn't care less about what others thought – Kyo Kusanagi and Iori Yagami together in the Osaka nightlife – he felt a public date was too obvious. Iori didn't want to declare their changed relationship status out of the blue like that. It felt…cheap. Attention-seeking in a way he wasn't fond of.

"You've always been a recluse."

"You've always known that, Kyo."

"Yeah, but…it's different now."

Iori eyed Kyo, who straightened his back, sitting upright in his chair. Although the weather was balmy outside, his erstwhile rival and now lover continued wearing his black leather jacket. Unzipped, it revealed a dark red T-shirt, the collar low enough to reveal Kyo's collarbone. Sunlight spilled in from his bedroom window, gilding the highlights in Kyo's brown hair. Kyo's expression was serious but his eyes were warm, as though lit from within.

Iori swallowed thickly, not trusting his voice.

Across from him, Kyo sighed. Stood. "Yagami," he said and Iori remembered open ground and a lighter between them, Kyo's tone gentle and understanding. "You're right – we're not like the others. But don't you want to at least try?"

Being like the others? What for?

"I'm not like them, Kyo." He never had been. Had known this from the start. "I'm not like your girlfriend."

"No, you're not." Kyo sat down beside him on the bed. "I told Yuki, you know. About us."

Iori stared at him, surprised. "She let you live?"

Kyo laughed. "Well, she wasn't happy about it, but…" He shrugged, rolling broad shoulders. His motions mesmerized Iori. "It went better than I thought. So you don't have to worry about that, Yagami."

Kyo was his now. Completely.

Or, if he flipped it, he was Kyo's now. Completely.

He cleared his throat. Looked away, Kyo's nearness a dangerous comfort. He itched for a cigarette but couldn't stir himself to move.

The other man reached out. Touched his hair, shifting it to reveal the hidden side of his face. "I get it, Yagami. It's all new for you. But…don't you want more? Than just this?"

"Your family knows?"

There was safety in questions. Danger in answers.

"Yeah. After Yuki, I told them."

"What'd they think?"

"Still dealing with it. Mom's a bit better, I think but Dad…. Well, you know him."

Iori snorted.

"He'll come around."

Kyo's fingers in his hair, tips roughened from training, sparring, and fighting. Turning, he fixed his gaze upon the other man, feeling roughness graze skin. "It's gonna be awkward at the tournaments."

"You still gonna bluster about killing me?"

"They'll be expecting it."

"The fans? Yeah. Can't exactly sell a rivalry without…that."

Iori scoffed. "You don't believe it anyway."

"Neither do you."

It was why they were together, talking like this. Figuring each other out.

He moved away, watching as Kyo withdrew his hand. The day was young – a little after noon – and he was hungry. Standing, Iori walked to the futon closet. Slid it open and removed one of his shorter jackets. Maroon, several shades darker than his favorite leather overcoat. He put it on, keeping it unzipped.

"Learning from me, Yagami?"

"Don't flatter yourself." He slid the door closed. "Need a bite to eat."

"Ah."

"I'm thinking hamburgers. Unless you have a better idea."

"You like fried chicken? KFC is having a special today."

"I'll try it. Better than _karaage_?"

"It's different." Kyo left the bed to stand at his side. "I guess this will do."

"Do for what?"

"Lunch together. Outside. For now."

"You're goddamn insufferable, you know that, Kyo?" Iori said, unable to keep a trace of amusement out of his voice.

Kyo leaned forward. Kissed him lightly on the lips. "You're only now learning that, Yagami?"


	2. Meet My Ex

Kyo removed the phone from his ear and hit the power button, shutting it off. Transferred his gaze from it to Iori, whose attention had also gone from his book to Kyo's face. He waved his phone in the air, as though rallying support. "It's Yuki. She wants to meet us."

"Why?" Iori's demeanor changed to a look of unease.

"Wants to talk. Get to know you better?" He pocketed his phone and ambled over to where Iori sat on the couch, novel held open in one hand. Yagami, unlike him, had graduated from high school – the diploma in his bedroom – and was an avid reader. They were opposites in many aspects, so this shouldn't have come as a surprise. After all, no one made fun of Iori for being a high school dropout. Just for being psychotic during the tournaments.

The high school dropout label was all his.

"But she does know me."

"She knows you as the guy who used to harass her boyfriend," Kyo said, the statement oddly amusing and ironic. "Now she wants to meet her ex's boyfriend." He smiled. "Weird, I know."

"When does she want to meet us?"

"Within the hour. There's a café she likes."

Iori closed the book. Put it beside him on the couch. The title sounded like science fiction. "You sure it's okay, Kyo?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Because…she's your ex."

"No bad feelings between us, Yagami. She's probably curious."

"About me? Or us?"

Kyo shrugged. "Both? She's not going to make a scene."

"I prefer to keep exes in the past."

"Messy breakups?"

The redhead stood, back straight. From his angle, Kyo couldn't see Iori's face past the fringe of scarlet. Yet, he sensed vulnerability. "Not everyone's as lucky as you."

It was his cue to back off. There were areas of Iori's life he wasn't privy to yet. "Should we go?"

"Yeah. Lemme get my keys."

* * *

Yuki sat across from him and Iori, a tall plastic cup of iced coffee and several pastries on a small plate beside her. Her short-cropped hair had grown longer, framing her inquisitive face. She was lovely in a pale blue sleeveless dress and the shawl draping over her chair was a soft shade of lilac. Within her reach was her phone, but the screen was dark. Kyo had opted for hot coffee and a plain croissant. Iori, denied his cigarettes here, bought himself coffee only and nothing to eat.

Kyo sipped his coffee. Put the paper cup down on the table. "Nice to see you again, Yuki. How are you?"

"Doing fine. You?"

"Okay." He lifted his croissant off the paper plate and took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. "So, what do you want to talk about? To us?"

"I want to speak to Yagami-san first, if that's okay."

Kyo glanced at Iori, noticing the confusion manifesting on his face. The redhead gulped down a mouthful of coffee, seemingly undeterred by its temperature and placed the cup down. Stared at Yuki, who smiled in response. From the looks of it, Iori needed a cigarette, for the other man had shoved both hands into his pants pockets. Were they shaking?

"What about?" Iori said, cleaving through niceties and getting straight to the point.

"I want to make sure Kyo will be okay. With you."

"Why won't he be?"

"Yagami-san, every time we've met before, it was never with good intent."

"I'm not going to kill him."

"It's not that I'm worried about." Yuki leaned forward. "I don't want him hurt in other ways."

Iori blinked. "Other ways?"

"You deal with things aggressively, Yagami-san. What will you do the first time you and Kyo have an argument? Or you don't get your way? Will you handle it the same way? With violence?"

"That's not how…" Kyo watched, silent, as his lover's voice trailed off. A minute pause. "I don't like violence."

"But you fight."

"That's different. Kyo fights. Is he violent?"

"It's not the same."

"Then what is?" Iori had shoved his chair back with a loud scrape; Kyo put his hand on his arm and looked at him. Iori, on the verge of rising, sat back down. "You wish he was still yours. Because you can give him what I can't."

"Yagami…"

"There are other ways of hurting people, Yagami-san. I don't want you to break Kyo's heart."

"Yuki," Kyo said, stepping into the conversation to divert its current course, "this is too much for him right now. He's still…we're still figuring things out."

"I just want to make sure."

"Surety will come later. We've been rivals for a long time. Putting that aside hasn't been easy, but…as you can see, he's not clawing my face off."

"I've only known him as your stalker, Kyo."

"I know, but I'm giving him a chance. You should, too."

Iori had turned his face aside, looking at everyone but them. Kyo squeezed his arm to reassure him. Picking up his coffee cup, he swallowed a good amount of its contents and took another bite out of his croissant. His former girlfriend observed him, gaze shifting occasionally to his left. Eventually, failing to draw Iori's attention – Kyo could feel him smarting – Yuki returned to her iced coffee, swirling it before taking a sip.

She put the cup down.

"So you're okay with this? Content?"

"It's like any other relationship, Yuki. Remember when we first started?"

"I do, yes."

"It's like that. Only between me and him."

"Take care of yourself, Kyo. Yagami-san, too."

He smiled. "I'll be fine. Yagami can take care of himself. He doesn't need me for that." In matters of pride, Iori never liked playing second. Kyo doubted them being together would change that. "Tell your parents I said 'Hi' and wish them well."

"They'll be glad to hear that, Kyo."

Next to him, Iori stood. Kyo grabbed his coffee cup and handed it to him; Iori took it, the storm clouds clearing from his face. Kyo nodded. While Iori made for the front door, he disposed of his trash before heading out. When he exited, Iori was waiting for him and together, they walked down the street, side by side. However, Kyo remained silent, sensing Iori's mood.

Eventually, they stopped at a quiet side street where Iori lit a cigarette. Took a deep drag. Breathed out the smoke and then gazed down the row of buildings. He looked lonely, Kyo thought and wondered if it'd always been this way.

"Told you I don't like revisiting exes."

"You won't hurt me, Yagami."

"Don't want to." The other's voice was rough. "Break your heart? What sorta shit is that?"

"She's just worried. In her own way."

"About what?"

"About us. Me. You."

"You, I get. _Me_?" Iori gestured with the cigarette, scattering ash. "I'm not right for you is what I got."

"Yagami…"

"Still, at least she comes out and says it." Pain, tightly controlled in Iori's voice. Already, Kyo was picking up nuances in his tone. "She still wants you, Kyo."

"That's over, Yagami."

"Doesn't change what she thinks."

"Yagami…if she can give me what I want, I wouldn't be here with you."

"You paid attention to that?"

"It's why you're like this, right?" He took a step forward, closer to Iori. "Because what she said hurt you."

The other man smiled, but there was a wound behind it. Disregarding the social disdain for public displays of affection, Kyo closed the distance and brought his free hand to the back of Iori's head. Touched their foreheads together. Iori didn't protest – simply looked at him, expectant.

"I'm here, Yagami. I won't leave you. You have nothing to be afraid of."

Repeating what he said that night.

Iori's tension slipped away, relief overtaking the strain in his face. Kyo didn't like seeing him hurt. Vulnerability was one thing, but emotional pain was something Iori wasn't good at dealing with. If he could take it away, he would.

"Crimson said I was your crazy ex."

Kyo huffed with laughter. "Well, he wasn't wrong."

"Ha."

"Feeling better now, Yagami?"

Iori nodded.

"Let's go back to your place, then."


	3. Waiting

The guitar case on his back, Iori grabbed his phone and thrust it into the depths of his coat pocket. There was a concert at one of the most well-known jazz clubs within the next few hours and he wanted to make it to the venue before rush hour. Once the subway trains got packed, he wasn't going anywhere fast and he preferred a less crowded ride. He also needed time to tune up and check with the band, so getting there earlier was better than later.

Iori didn't like working on a tight schedule. It made him twitchy.

He checked once for keys and wallet and then stepped up onto the entranceway. Put his shoes on, swatting aside the leather straps hanging from his black leather pants and unlatched the door. Stepped outside, inhaled the fresh air, made sure his door was locked and headed downstairs. While Kyo got around on a bike, he took the local bus.

From there, he'd take the subway to downtown.

They had five songs tonight and two of them had bass solos. He'd been practicing for several weeks – was playing even last night – and he was ready as he could be. Even now, walking down the sidewalk towards the bus stop, his mind kept repeating the chords. His hands remembered the feel of the guitar pick and how the strings impressed into his callused fingers. How the music took him away to somewhere pleasant and relaxing.

Iori smiled. He enjoyed music. He enjoyed jazz.

Tonight promised to be a good night. Kyo couldn't make it – had something to take care of – but that was fine. On evenings like this, the only thing that mattered was the music.

When he arrived at the bus stop, he was the lone occupant of the small glass-enclosed booth. He stood there, looking out at the quiet residential neighborhood. At the high blue sky. There were kites in the distance – probably kids playing.

He slipped on his headphones, hooking it to his phone.

Put a playlist on.

By the time the bus arrived, his world was nothing but trumpets, saxophones, pianos, and bass guitars.

* * *

The performance had gone well. His bandmates were stellar tonight and their audience was pleased. They'd been offered a few drinks on the house and although Iori usually refrained, even he participated with a single cup. Afterwards, they mingled with their fans – girls calling his name and taking his picture was a constant – and then, it was time to leave. Not a man of many words around those he didn't consider his intimates, he nodded as the others left. He headed towards the back, towards the exit, so that he could leave in peace and quiet.

Usually, after a concert, he preferred to be alone.

He opened the door. Slipped outside.

Downtown Osaka was ablaze with light, with nighttime activity, with all the commotion and excitement of a big city. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a drag. Slowly let the smoke out, watching the neon colors through half-lidded eyes. He was tired but happy – it wasn't often he could say that – and his mind was already considering home and his bed.

A good night's sleep.

A good breakfast in the morning, gotten from the local convenience store.

He leaned back against the wall, placed the cigarette to his lips, and continued partaking of it. By the time the final ashes fell, Iori was content. Content and ready to go home.

He dropped the cigarette on the asphalt. Ground it out with the sole of his shoe.

His phone vibrated in his coat pocket. He took it out.

_Yagami, is your concert done? If it is, I can give you a ride. Trains will be done soon._

Kyo. Of course.

Iori texted back, the city lights in accord with the brightness from his phone's screen. _Where are you?_

A few seconds.

_Not far from the club._ Pause. _How was it?_

Iori smiled.

_Went well. The fans got their money's worth._

_That's good. You're at the front or back?_

_Back. Quiet out here._

Another few seconds elapsed. _You like that, right? Just being by yourself?_

_Yeah._

_Wait there. I'll come get you. Going home or to a hotel?_

Iori typed, watching as a single _kanji_ character occupied one tiny speech bubble. _Home._

_Sorry to have missed it. Family matters, you know._

_Next time._

_Yeah. I'll see you soon. Just stay there._

_Not going anywhere, Kyo. See you soon._

He turned his phone off and pocketed it. Shifted the guitar case on his back. Stood there and waited. When the headlight came into view along with the motorcycle's roar, Iori stepped forward.

The bike came to a halt. Its rider removed his helmet.

"Come on. Get on."

Iori did. Kyo had been waiting for him. He accepted the spare helmet and put it on. Encircled his arms around Kyo's waist and leaned forward to adjust his balance on the shared seat. Kyo had been waiting for him and that was enough.

It was a good night, indeed.


	4. Sparring

"We'll never stop fighting, will we?" This, Kyo said, grinning. He'd thrown his jacket aside onto the grassy knoll by the river flowing behind them. Cocked his head sideways and maintained the grin that once spurred Iori on to either rage or sheer determination to see him beaten. Already, he was in stance, bouncing on his heels in a steady rhythm.

Iori didn't say anything, but responded by shifting into stance as well. There was a wiry and feral grace to his movements and fighting posture, which hadn't changed since the time Kyo first knew him as a rival. Back then, those movements were something to look out for – to anticipate incoming strikes or feints. While that hadn't changed, Kyo was now able to take pleasure in observing certain aspects of Iori's stance. His outstretched arms, sleeve slightly turned to reveal a sliver of pale wrist. Long legs, lean and strong like the rest of him. The focused and serious expression on his face, chin jutting forward.

"You done looking?"

"Let me enjoy the moment, Yagami," he said, carefree while keeping the grin on his face. "Ain't often I get to _look_."

His lover snorted. "You'll get plenty of time for that. We gonna spar or you gonna keep staring?"

"Spoilsport. Fine. Let's go."

"Don't you dare hold back."

"Yeah. Yeah." He widened his legs a bit farther apart, readjusting his center of gravity. "Same for you."

Iori's visible eye narrowed. Within the second, the man was within striking range. Kyo shifted backwards, feet finding solid purchase on the grass. He kept one arm ready to block high, while his other arm hovered around his middle. Iori tended to strike high – a personal preference he'd noticed – but sometimes it changed. The arm slashing out arced towards his center; his arm swung upward to block. A shiver in the air and Iori's nails sliced through his skin.

Delayed pain – cold stings – and then blood.

_Not bad, Yagami. But then, you were always fast._

The wounds were shallow, skin-deep and afterwards, he'd just douse it with disinfectant and wrap it up. Iori, during their sparring, was allowed to inflict damage. However, they both knew their limits. It was no longer a brutal fight to the death, but neither was going gentle part of it.

They were fighters. Being lovers didn't remove any of the competitiveness. Their pride wouldn't stand for it, either.

He shook the blood off, droplets flying in the air.

Counterattacked, reversing his defensive position into offensive. Came in with a low quick kick that forced Iori backward. Kyo pressed his advantage, fist swinging in high. Iori blocked and then tried grabbing him. An old trick.

_Not this time, Yagami._

He dodged, moving sideways. Iori whiffed the grab, hand extending into empty space. Kyo jumped, launching his leg straight for Iori's side, avoiding his ribs. The blow landed, but the other man didn't even flinch. Instead, turned, one hand already enveloped with twisting violet flame. Now that fire entered the fight, Kyo brought forth his, orange burning.

His flames went straight for Iori's face, the tail end throwing sparks.

Iori's raked straight down, parting his flames and catching his shirt on fire.

Kyo batted at the licking tongues of violet flame with one hand while pressing into Iori's range. The other's arms were up in his usual stance, gaze trying to read his next move. Kyo disregarded his singed shirt and minor burns, following up with his other fist. The blow swung high; Iori blocked. Kyo followed with another punch, straight for the midsection.

The other man saw it incoming a second too late. Iori's parry glanced off his fist, which Kyo sank into his abdomen. The redhead hunched over, staggering back. Kyo gave him the distance to recover. They were sparring – this wasn't a desperate death match. He used the few seconds to assess his own injuries, which weren't that bad compared to what he'd gotten before.

A few burns on his chest, easily dealt with using cooling lotion.

As for the cuts on his arm, hydrogen peroxide and disinfectant gel.

His shirt, if unsalvageable – seemed okay – he'd use as cleaning rags.

Iori straightened across from him, arm over his abdomen. It seemed to take a while for him to recover his breath. "Won't fall for that again."

"You tend to overlook your middle when I aim high. You okay?"

"Hit my fucking diaphragm."

"Oh."

Kyo looked out at their surroundings and spotted the crowd watching from the hill. They always drew one – it was inevitable. The Kusanagi versus the Yagami, particularly the young heirs, had been newsworthy material since the beginning. He and Iori benefited from their rivalry financially. Their live fights always sold out audience seats. To be able to catch them sparring – not that their current viewers knew that – was a treat, since there was no fee.

"Hey, you wanna continue?"

"Maybe later. What time is it?"

Kyo retrieved his phone from his jeans pocket. "Three fifteen."

"Enough time for a small snack."

"Hungry already?"

"Missed breakfast this morning."

"Well, we won't need dinner, then. We'll eat and then practice our katas."

Iori tipped his head at the bystanders. "They don't see that every day." His arm had dropped to his side. "Maybe I can learn a few things, too."

"For the next session?" Kyo grinned. "Looking forward to it."

Iori huffed, but Kyo could tell it wasn't from displeasure. "Food, Kyo. We can talk later."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

"Fool Kusanagi."

"Love ya too, Yagami."


	5. Solace

Kyo's voice over the phone is tense and angry. "One of my sponsors dropped me." The news – first time Iori heard of it – falls like a sharp descending blow. He doesn't say anything for a few seconds and doesn't wish to assume, but the question's already formed in his mind. After another second, he asks to find out.

"Why?"

An irritated sound and Iori could almost see Kyo fuming, likely stomping around in fury. He wonders where he is. "Not representing Japan in an honorable light. Bullshit. Said they saw something in a tabloid paper."

There's a sinking feeling in his gut and while it shouldn't have surprised him, it still does. "Something about us?"

"They didn't say."

No. Of course not. Meanings were couched in polite words and meant to be inferred. He does this now with what Kyo mentioned and while he might be wrong, Iori doubts it. "Do you expect others to do the same?"

"How should I know?" Kyo snaps and Iori closes his mouth tight, feeling the sting of Kyo's temper even here at home. He leaves his half-eaten lunch on the table, pushes his chair aside, and stands. Runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it. Waits for Kyo's anger to cool, knowing its target isn't him.

After a minute or two, Kyo speaks again, voice muted. "Sorry. That wasn't –"

"It's probably us, Kyo. They don't have to say it."

There isn't anything else Iori can think of besides that. It isn't even scandalous, but it'll affect their fans' perception of them, which in turn will influence their finances. Rivalry sold big, particularly a long-running one like theirs; maintaining the illusion will be difficult, since their feelings have changed. While their fans did consist of girls and women, majority of their followers were also men and their main sponsors were Japanese. That was the other difficulty.

"Have you…"

Kyo doesn't need to finish the question for Iori to divine its meaning. "No. I'm not Japan Team, Kyo. Maybe that's why."

A muttering on the other end. Iori walks out of his small eat-in kitchen and heads towards the main room and its open window. There's a pleasant afternoon breeze, which accompanies the cityscape outside. He stays by the window, looking out and keeps his silence.

"I don't regret it, Yagami."

Important words. Words Iori would've thought, given enough time.

"What if there are more, Kyo?"

It is, Iori thinks, also important that Kyo's ready for additional censure. Japan is slower to change, clinging to its traditions and mindset and for all the female love of relationships like theirs, their society as a whole still disapproves. Iori expects something to happen to him as well – maybe not dropped sponsorship but a falling away of fans – and while that doesn't bother him, it fits the pattern in their home country.

Disapproval here comes sheathed; the blade delicately revealed and wielded with the wound made before anyone is aware of it.

Kyo's sponsor would never come out and be direct about it, but Iori knew. Kyo, for all his bravado and temper, likely knew the cause as well.

"Then it happens," the other man says on his end.

Iori waits a moment before continuing the conversation. "Will you be ready for it?"

A pause. "I'll manage."

"Their loss," Iori says, glancing to his left when sunlight sets aglow something in the distance. "There will be others, Kyo. Others that won't mind."

"You think so?"

"As long as we fight – make a good performance – some won't care."

"It'll be rough, though."

"Yeah. We need to expect that, now that they know." It wasn't as if they've been hiding it. All of those times together outside – lunches in restaurants and quiet parks – without any hints of violence between them? Even without going on a given name basis – he was reluctant for Kyo to change his method of address – their relationship was plain to see. When the heirs to the two rival clans were on such _friendly_ terms with each other, an easy assumption was made.

In this case, the assumption was correct.

They still hadn't gone on what Iori considered a date. Not that it made much difference now.

"Are you at home?"

He places his palm against the glass and pushes the window open a bit more. He needs the breeze, for it's comforting and clears his mind. "I am. You coming over?"

"Will that be a problem? You busy?"

"No."

"I won't take much of your time."

Kyo probably wanted to talk, to vent, to rail against this first unfortunate upheaval in his life because of their changed circumstances. Iori doesn't regret it, either, but that can be conveyed directly once Kyo arrived. "Stay as long as you want. You belong now, you know."

Words he'd never said to anyone else. Not even his former girlfriends.

Another pause but it feels different this time. "Thanks."

He lingers by the window. Feels the wind against his face, his hair. He blinks. It's not often he's in this position, offering solace instead of being given it. An aspect of their relationship he's learning, however slowly it may take. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No."

"I have a train bento box. Rice, pickled plum, curry."

"Sounds good. You have beer?"

"Yeah."

"Be over in ten. That okay?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry about this, Yagami." It's not often Kyo apologizes, either. Iori makes a mental note to consider dinner for two as well. He doesn't think anything's going to happen tonight. The other man simply needs to talk and figure things out. He can do that – he's learning after all.

"Don't be."

Their call ends afterwards. Iori gazes once more at the beauty outside and then leaves. He keeps the window open, though. He likes the breeze.


	6. Strange

"You're a strange one," he said, a thought spoken even he traced the back of Iori's neck with his finger. The redhead shivered at his touch but didn't turn around to face him. Past the long falling hair, towards the top of his spine, Kyo let his finger complete a circle around the tangible vertebra. Iori made a sound and Kyo stopped, as if marking the little he was permitted to know of his lover's body at this time.

A growl, followed by pages turning, the sound crisp in the silence between them. As Iori's book closed, the other turned to look at him, reaching out to grab his extended finger. Kyo met his gaze, seeing an unspoken challenge in it.

"Strange? How so?"

He doesn't pull his finger away; instead, watched Iori, reading the subtle shifts in his expression. "You know how normal this is?"

"And that makes me strange?"

"You go baying for blood during tourneys. That's what people see. What they remember. This…" He glanced around, gesturing with his line of sight. "This is normal. No one would believe it."

"That's their problem, not mine."

"Yeah, well…if anyone had told me Iori Yagami spent most of his time reading and doing normal stuff, I'd be surprised."

"You shouldn't be by now."

"Obvious. I know." He tugged his hand; Iori let go, still watching him. "Why do you do that anyway? Get all bloodthirsty during the tournaments?"

"Don't like being there," Iori said, as if it explained everything.

"You're always there, though."

"Don't like the others. Just about you, Kyo."

"That, I know." Years of being stalked by Iori – even during his ordeal with NESTS – cemented that fact. "Will this…change anything?"

"Your friends still annoy me."

The mild irritation in Iori's face amused Kyo. He snorted. "Beni doesn't like you, either. Daimon doesn't really care."

"Daimon's a fucking statue. Does he blink?"

"Go ask him."

"Hell no." All pretense of reading put aside, Iori leaned in closer, angling over the back of the couch. "Just want him out of the way."

"So no changes, then?"

"I didn't say that." Familiar and yet unfamiliar territory. Iori's voice was deeper and lower. "When we fight, it's just us, Kyo."

"So what's the difference?"

"Now that I'm not out to kill you," Iori said, closing the distance between their faces. "Tolerating your friends might be possible."

" _Might_ ," Kyo said, grinning. "That's not a guarantee."

"Tch. Stopped chasing you, haven't I?"

"Only 'cause I've been coming after you." Iori's apartment was a small, yet comfortable spot. The other man was relaxed here – it being his home – and Kyo was able to disengage from his concerns while in the other's presence. It _was_ strange – finding quiet and calm with his former rival – but then again, wasn't that even true of the night that led them here? To where they were now, gazing at each other?

"So you're stalking me."

He didn't realize Iori could crack jokes, however dry his tone was. "Don't think it's quite the same."

"Perhaps not."

He leaned forward, his shadow obscuring the crimson-brown of Iori's revealed eye. "You know what else is strange?"

"What?"

Instead of replying, Kyo brought his hand up and around the back of Iori's neck, fingers curling gentle over warm skin. Once again, the other man shivered as his touch brushed past bone. "That, Yagami." How vulnerable the man could be, if he let himself. It was something only he saw, Kyo believed. Strength and – not quite softness (that wasn't the word he sought) – along with trust. Iori trusted him and from there, they could find their way together through this beginning.

Were on their way to doing so.

"Kyo?"

"Yagami?"

The redhead pulled him close, hands in his shirt. Yanked him over the couch. There was the sound of something hitting the floor. It was soon forgotten.


	7. Encounter with the Landlord

Takahashi was his landlord and Iori rarely saw him, let alone spoke to him. So it surprised him one day when the older man intercepted him during a mail run. "Yagami-san, if you have time, I'd like to speak to you." Takahashi was old enough to be his father – if his father was still alive – and wasn't the kind to waste words, getting to the point. He was still polite about it, yet direct.

"What about?"

"Where are you headed?"

"Getting my mail." He could be direct, too, but this was just straight honesty. "Is it urgent?"

"I just need to ask you something."

"Then do it. I have stuff to do." Kyo wasn't dropping by today – the Kusanagi clan kept him busy with resolving interfamilial and clan matters – which gave him plenty of time to sort out his daily schedule.

Takahashi gave him an apologetic look over the frames of his glasses. "This man you're seeing – is it long-term? Will he be taking residence here?"

Very little astonished or took Iori aback. This did. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at his landlord, unable to stem the sudden anger he felt. "Why are you asking this? Who told you?"

"It's true, then? About this man?"

"Did someone complain?" It was the only possibility Iori could think of, short of Takahashi finding out on his own.

The other man sighed. There was gray hair mingled in black. Iori wondered if the man had family or grandkids. "There are two families on the same floor. They have young children."

"And I'm responsible for them?" he said, temper rising.

"I'm just telling you what they told me."

"It's none of their business. What do they care?"

The apologetic expression deepened on his landlord's face. Iori supposed he should be feeling sorry for him, but he had his own concerns right now. "They said it was wrong. Don't want their children seeing that. Particularly the sons."

"Never heard complaints when I had women around."

"I know," Takahashi said without changing expression.

"Buncha hypocrites."

"Yagami-san, you're a quiet and good tenant. You pay on time. I have no issues with you. But I can't disregard the other tenants here."

"If they have problems, they can come to me."

"They don't want to. That's why they approached me."

Iori pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the start of a headache forming behind his eyes. "Are you evicting me, Takahashi? Is this what it's about?"

"I have no issues with you."

"But two families with brats they're responsible for do."

"Will he be staying with you? Long-term?"

"No," Iori said, sure that if his answer was otherwise, Takahashi would have to make a choice right here and now. "He has his own home."

Sudden relief on the older man's face, which confirmed Iori's suspicions. "You have not been…too loud, I suppose?" What a way to broach that topic. It was also indirect, since outright asking if he and Kyo were fucking was impolite.

He glared at Takahashi, even though none of this was the man's fault. "They have no right to complain. One of them yells at his kid every night. Tell him to shut up."

"Noise complaint?"

Iori sneered. "Yes."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"So that's all? I continue to stay, right?" He wanted this in ironclad terms.

"Yes. As long as nothing untoward happens, you may stay."

There was still indignation burning inside of him. "You mean as long as no one sees anything?" As if he and Kyo would be blatant outside. They weren't even fucking yet, simply because Iori wasn't quite sure how to begin. He wasn't a woman and neither was Kyo. While the mechanics were the same, he didn't want to get hurt or injure Kyo in the process. "Do they take me for an idiot?"

"Huh?"

"My neighbors mustn't know me well enough. They'll see nothing."

"Only the man arriving at and leaving your apartment."

"If that's it, this is a waste of time." Iori growled in the back of his throat, irritated at this disruption in his schedule. "Maybe they should look somewhere else."

"I'm sorry to have troubled you with this, Yagami-san, but it's my responsibility to check and verify complaints. I'll do the same with yours."

"Good. Anything else?"

"No."

"Then I'll be on my way." He had mail to retrieve, songs to practice, a venue to check out, and his own clan matters – however miniscule – to take care of. Just because he was the only living descendant left didn't mean the clan issues weren't there. "If there are any more complaints, let me know."

"Will that be wise, Yagami-san?"

"You let me decide that."

Takahashi looked slightly unhappy at that, but Iori ignored it. "Have a good day, Yagami-san."

Iori gave him a curt nod and left.

* * *

_What do you mean, you almost got evicted? For what?_

It was late at night and Iori stood by the window, gazing out at the half moon hanging in the dark sky. There were probably stars, but the neon lights blotted them from his sight. _You remember my neighbors? The two families with kids?_

_Yeah. What about them?_

_They complained. About us._

A few seconds' pause. _You've got to be shitting me._ Even from the text, Iori could decipher Kyo's tone. _What did we do to them?_

_Nothing. We just are. Some bullshit about their brats and how wrong it is._

_I'll like to show them what I think._

_I didn't get thrown out, so no. If it comes to it, I'll handle it._

_My fucking sponsor drops me and your landlord held eviction over your head._ A moment where Iori stared at his blinking cursor, waiting for Kyo to continue. _He can't do that, you know._

_What's to stop him? If both families move out, then he loses income._

_Let him find better tenants, then. Why do they care what we do?_ Another pause. _How the hell do they…are they listening in on us?_

_The walls aren't that thick, Kyo. At least we aren't fucking yet._

The pause this time was longer. Iori wondered if he took Kyo off guard with that last remark. _Do you want to?_

_Not until we know what we're doing._

_We can learn._

_You did say that._ Kyo's counter to his confused flailing that one particular evening was amusing in hindsight. _Don't feel that you have to, okay?_

_Of course._

Iori glanced around his apartment. There was jazz music playing in the background and dishes drying in the rack inside the kitchen. It was quiet tonight – Takahashi must've given his neighbor a warning – and the small apartment was comfortable. Was home. While he could move out in a hurry – having done it before – he didn't want to. Not now. He liked it here.

_Next time your neighbors complain, tell them to fuck off._

_Do the same with your sponsor._

A second's pause before the characters popped up in his text app. _If anything happens, you can come to my place._

The Kusanagi estate. The heart of his lover's clan. _Would they want me there?_

_I don't care what they think. If something happens and your landlord throws you out, you're always welcome. Stay in my room. I'll handle the rest._

Iori scoffed, but not with his usual biting derision. _Shape the world as you like, eh, Kyo?_

_Gotta do something with this destiny bullshit, right?_

_What's this gotta do with your destiny?_

_I'm clan heir, genius. If I want you dropping by or staying, that's my call, right?_

His scoff turned to bemused smile. _That's a roundabout way to claim your destiny. Getting your lover in your place. You gonna pull rank?_

_If I have to._

Well, at least he knew he had a place to go if Takahashi was forced to evict him. _At least let your folks know. Your old man might wonder if you've gone mad._

_Nah. I'll let Mom deal with him._

_Good night, Kyo._

_Good night, Yagami. Don't think about that, okay?_

_I won't. See ya._


	8. Nightlife

They decided one night to meet at a bar located downtown. Having no plans that evening, Kyo zipped his way there on his bike, reaching the destination three minutes earlier than the time discussed. It didn't surprise him, though, to find Iori already there. The other man spotted him and waved him over, motioning to an empty stool beside him. Iori was dressed simply in a dark red dress shirt, black jeans, and the ring on his finger gleamed in the dim light. Making his way there, Kyo seated himself.

"This the bar you frequent?"

"It's a good spot," Iori said, taking a sip of amber-colored liquor. There was a single ice cube in it. "The bartenders know what they're doing. Gets in all the good stuff like this." A slight motion of his hand and Iori's liquor swirled in the glass. "Whiskey from Ireland."

"We have whiskey, too."

"Not quite the same."

"How's it different?" Kyo asked, uncertain about the differences in whiskey. To him, whiskey was whiskey, right? Since Japan made their own, wouldn't Japanese whiskey suffice?

"Whiskey originated in Ireland." Iori responded matter-of-factly, as though giving him a small history lesson. "Prefer it from the source."

"Huh. Didn't take you as a connoisseur."

"I have few tastes, so I make them count."

"Quality, eh?"

"Yeah." Iori took another sip from his glass. "You getting anything?"

Kyo motioned to the bartender, who wiped his hands clean and came over. "One Sapporo, please." Since he needed to get back home later on his bike, he wanted nothing stronger than beer. "Don't need a glass."

"It's on my tab, so order whatever you want."

"Sure."

His beer came in its bottle. After thanking the bartender, who further acknowledged him – Iori being a regular seemed to help as well – Kyo took a pull and observed his surroundings. The other patrons here were either seated or standing, drinks cradled in their hands. Some made small talk, while others remained solitary and quiet. Lights from cell phones reflected off young faces. While some dressed casual like he did – shirt (his was blue) and jeans – others were in slacks and a few women wore simple dresses.

The bar was decent-sized, not too large or too small and had a warm welcoming vibe. There was music playing – was it jazz? – and the bartender was busy, going from customer to customer, serving drinks and starters. Maybe later, after a bit more beer, he'd order something to nibble on. Iori continued sipping at his whiskey, foregoing his usual cigarettes.

"No cigs?"

"Not allowed here. I can always smoke outside after."

He took another drink of beer. "Nice place here."

"Thought you'd like it."

Some time passed, in which he continued absorbing in the ambience and Iori moved onto his second glass of whiskey. Kyo finished his beer and got a small starter plate of food, which he and Iori shared. Their fingertips would touch and while they didn't say anything, Kyo smiled and Iori's expression said it all. They finished the plate and Iori ordered something else to accompany their drinks.

"Would this count as a date?" he asked, keeping his volume low.

Iori looked at him, barely fazed by the alcohol he kept consuming. Kyo wanted to reach out and push his hair aside, but refrained from doing so. "If you want."

It didn't count as one to Iori, but Kyo took what he could from their still developing and young relationship. "Drinks in a bar? Not a bad way to do it."

Iori simply took a sip of whiskey and didn't say anything.

Time passed pleasantly enough and warm with alcohol and food, Kyo decided to hit the restroom in back. Iori would be outside after paying, waiting for him. The restroom was small but well-kept and clean. If he became a regular here, it wouldn't be a bad place to while away a quiet evening. He was also curious about the difference in whiskeys, as he'd discussed earlier with Iori.

Upon arriving outside, Kyo noticed a slight altercation taking place. There was a heavyset man – a complete stranger – accosting Iori, whose body language showed annoyance. Kyo was about to approach them when he glimpsed the man's right hand and its missing pinky finger. Yakuza. What the hell was a Yazuka member doing bothering Iori? The idiot would be lucky to walk away intact.

"Told you 'no'. Go away!"

Instead of heeding Iori, the man only got closer. Kyo couldn't hear him, but the sudden shift in Iori's body told him the fighter was prepared to strike back if necessary. The whiskey hadn't seemed to impair Iori and Kyo knew the other man could hold his own against others, so he remained where he was. He'd told Yuki before Iori could take care of himself; if he believed what he said, he'd let Iori handle this unless he couldn't.

Kyo doubted that. Iori Yagami against the Yakuza was child's play.

"I said 'no!' I'm not interested!"

The Yakuza idiot said something.

"Fuck do I care? That's your problem!"

Another set of words Kyo couldn't hear.

"Not your hired hand! Not the other, either! Find someone else!"

Either the moron had a death wish, deliberately pretended not to hear, or had an agenda which included the possibility of being maimed as part of the plan. Kyo couldn't figure out which was which or if it was a package deal with the man irritating his lover. This time, when the man spoke, Kyo heard him.

"You'll regret this!"

"Fuck I will!" Iori hollered back, tone irate. "Leave now or else you'll die!" The redhead made a threatening gesture and the Yazuka idiot fled, muttering something under his breath. With the incident over, Kyo approached. Other bystanders, he noticed, also had avoided the area until it passed.

"Hadn't heard that in a while," he said, keeping his tone light to smooth over the aftermath of the situation. "Will I hear it again during the tournament this year?"

Iori's rage still lingered, for his face was tense and angry. "Fuck did that guy think he was?"

"Yakuza. Maybe he thought you'd be intimidated?"

"Tch."

"What was that about, anyway?"

"Wanted a hitman or someone to fuck. Or both. Didn't make it very clear."

Kyo raised an eyebrow. "And he decided you were the one to –"

"I'm not a goddamn assassin. Or a whore."

"Guy's a moron."

"Obviously." Iori shoved his hands into his pants pockets, scowl still etched in lines on his face. "Do I look like either one of those?"

"You fight, but –"

"That's all I do. I can't be bought."

"Must be a gang war or something, if he came to you. Think he scouted the place? Knew you were here?"

"Probably. Scare me? Pah. I'll scare _him_ if he comes back."

"Yeah. Not worried – know you've got this."

"Fucking idiot."

"That's two of us, then. Good to know we agree." Kyo turned, angling his body towards his parked bike. "Besides that, I like this place."

"The bar?"

"Yeah."

"Good." The mood had altered and with the incident over, discussed and gone, Iori's expression turned mild. "Now that they know you, you can always come back."

"I'll let you know."

People walking around, neon lights ablaze – bright colors aglow in the night – and the city was in full swing. Osaka's nightlife never disappointed, especially if one knew the good locales.

"You have to leave right away?"

"No." Kyo redirected his gaze back to Iori, whose face was a question. "Why? You have something in mind?"

Iori flushed red, then – it wasn't the alcohol – and leaned closer. Whispered in his ear. Kyo felt himself burn hot and stared at the other man, surprised. "You sure, Yagami?"

"We don't have to…not if…but I…"

He nodded. "Just let me know, okay?"

Iori didn't respond but he didn't have to. Kyo could read his expression.

"Night's still young. Come on."


	9. Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Takes place directly after #8 - Nightlife_

Kyo is warm. Kyo is next to him, where they both lay together. Iori shifts and his blood burns – whether it's from the alcohol or their exertion, he doesn't know. All he knows is Kyo needs to go home, like he mentioned before, but the man is still with him. The night started young but it's getting late now and Kyo has family to return home to.

He kisses the other man on the forehead, right above his brow. Gentleness used to come easy to him but that was before the training. Before he became his clan's weapon against the Kusanagi clan. The irony isn't lost on him. "Kyo, it's late." That's all he says and it should be enough.

Kyo stirs – muscle and scars on a battle-hardened body – and sits up. The sheet falls off him and although the light's dim, Iori sees what his hands have traced tonight. His breath catches and Kyo turns to him, hearing it. There's a trace of amusement in his eyes, which Iori never finds tiresome now. "Thought you had enough."

"I did."

He's tired – can sleep the night away in the hotel – yet, the sight of Kyo always stops him for entirely different reasons now. He's unable to remove his gaze, to shift it elsewhere. For Kyo unclothed and outside the battle arena carries a different kind of beauty and Iori doesn't use that word lightly. From where he lies, Kyo towers above him, brown hair messy and a slight sheen to his skin.

Heat pools in his stomach; Iori clamps down on the urges it brings.

"Did I hurt you?"

The question is gently asked. It's a kindness.

"No."

He props himself up on his elbow and locks gazes with Kyo. Silence falls between them but it's the comforting sort and Iori doesn't mind. The taste of whiskey in the back of his throat, the bed's softness beneath him, and the quiet ambience of their hotel room settles into him. Kyo can't stay, but that's all right. He doesn't move when Kyo reaches out, fingers brushing his hair aside.

"It wasn't quite what I expected, but…"

"It never is."

Their first time together – tonight, of all nights – wasn't how Iori envisioned it; yet, he has no regrets. It wasn't comfortable despite Kyo's effort to make it so, but Iori's sure he wouldn't have done much better being new to it. He'll probably be sore tomorrow but he's been hurt worse before and with time, discomfort fades. He doesn't feel anything right now and that, to him, is for the best.

"You're staying?" Kyo asks him, voice soft. His hand falls away.

Iori blinks, hair covering his face again. "Yes." They have the room for one night – best to make use of it. He doesn't feel like going home right now anyway. The bed's soft and warm. Kyo's still here – his presence is enough. He wants to close his eyes and sleep, but doing so will remove Kyo from his gaze. Exhaustion grips him; he puts his head down on the pillow.

Kyo smiles and Iori sees why the sun's a fitting crest for his lover's clan. "I don't have to leave, you know."

It takes him by surprise. "But –"

"It feels wrong just leaving you here." The unspoken implication would've been insulting if Iori chose to feel insulted. However, Kyo continues, smoothing away any unintentional barbs. "Don't want you to wake up alone."

He's slept alone before, but he's also slept alongside his girlfriends after a busy night. Companionship for him is rare. He's never imagined Kyo with him for the whole night, both of them asleep in bed. The fact that Kyo's willing to forego going home to spend the night with him is…

Iori looks away, watching the strands of his hair red against his pillow.

"You don't mind, do you?"

As if he would. Kyo's question turns his attention back to the man, to that soft concerned expression and Iori can't refuse him anything at this point. "No. Why would I?" His voice is brusque; yet, they both know it's just who he is. Kyo's smile deepens and it does something to his eyes. Iori can't look away.

"Give me a minute. I'll let my folks know."

The other man slips out of bed, pulls on his briefs – their clothes are scattered on the floor – and disappears into the bathroom with his phone in hand. Iori closes his eyes and hears the door open and close after a brief moment. The blanket lifts and settles upon him and then Kyo's beside him, adding his warmth to the bed. Light kisses on his eyelids and strong arms encircle him.

"Sleep, Yagami. I'll be here."

He does and when the light goes off, everything's all right.


	10. In the Loop

"Kagura-san's calling," Kyo said, seeing the name and phone number appear on his smartphone's screen. He put down his chopsticks and picked up the device. Across from him, Iori slurped down a mouthful of noodles and then pointed with his utensils. In any other household, this would be considered rude, but it mattered little to this apartment's occupant.

"What does she want?"

"Dunno."

"Put her on speaker phone."

Kyo tapped the speaker phone icon, put the phone back on the table, and leaned forward in his chair. "Hey, Kagura-san. What's up?"

"Kusanagi-san," their Sacred Treasures leader said, a smile bright in her tone, "how are you today?"

"Doing okay. Wasn't expecting your call."

"It's the usual. I expect some Orochi-related disturbances this year, so I'm requesting your help."

"Lemme guess…you want me to team up with you and Yagami this year."

"Yes, actually. I'm anticipating coming back, so forming a team would be nice."

Kyo raised his head and met Iori's equally surprised gaze. "Does Yagami know about this? You usually reach out to him first, right?"

"I haven't been able to reach him lately."

"Oh. Why's that?"

"Don't know. He's always unavailable. Have you seen him around, Kusanagi-san?"

The smirk on Iori's face almost made him snort. The other man had pulled out his phone, typed something quick in it, and showed him his screen. _You wanna tell her or let me do it?_ Odd that it felt like an inside joke, but then again, Chizuru wasn't aware of the significant change in their relationship. Or the fact that he and Iori frequently met up and that the redhead was within arm's length right now.

"About that, Kagura-san…"

"Yes?"

He gave Iori a look that handed him the reins; the man lightly scoffed. "Kyo's with me, Kagura."

A surprised sound over his phone's speaker. "Yagami-san? You're there?"

"Kyo's with me at my apartment. What's this about coming back this year? You're finally returning to fight?"

"Yes." A moment's silence. "Kyo's with you?"

"Yeah."

"Why's he with you? You don't sound like you're…fighting."

This time, Yagami flicked a returning gaze back to him, like trading off a baton in a race. Kyo took the hint. "We're together now, Kagura-san."

"Together? What do you mean, Kusanagi-san?"

"I'm no longer with Yuki." He let it hang there – let Chizuru deduce the meaning behind those words. At the mention of his ex-girlfriend, he saw Iori's expression undergo a subtle shift. Reaching across the table, he entwined his hand with the other's, observing how Iori's slender and longer fingers contrasted with his, pale against tan.

"You mean…you two are…"

"Yeah, like that." He doesn't mention anything about sleeping with Iori or any of the other intimacies they've shared. It's best left unspoken – something between them.

"I don't believe…" A moment's silence broken by laughter. "When did this happen?"

Relief etched in Iori's face, plain in his eyes. Kyo was also happy Chizuru took the news well. If she disagreed, then it'd be difficult going forward, considering their team dynamics. "Yagami can share that…" He passed the conversation back to Iori, a brief glance easily read. "…if he wants."

"Yagami-san? What –"

"A kiss instead of a punch and the rest…" The man across from him shrugged, nonchalant. "Kyo can tell you the rest."

"No fair! Kusanagi-san, what happened?"

"Yagami decided the best way to end a fight was to kiss me." He smiled at Iori, saying this and was rewarded by the sight of Iori turning red as his hair. "Rather obvious by then, right? Instead of knocking his lights out, well…" He chuckled. "It's been interesting…this and Yagami." Another overt glance and from how the other's fingers tightened in his hold, Kyo surmised Iori was in need of a cold shower after. "I don't think we'll have a problem teaming up this year."

Light merry laughter. "You two are…"

"Unpredictable?"

"I'll concede on that one." Pause. "How are you going to handle the tournament this year?"

"Still figuring that out."

"You're not rivals anymore. Not if what you say is true."

"It is." Iori's tone was curt; yet, less harsh with Chizuru than it would've been with anyone else. "There's been some difficulties."

"Such as?"

Kyo sighed. "I lost a sponsor. We believe they found out about…us."

"Have you found a replacement sponsor?"

"No. Not yet."

During the length of this discussion, Iori's bowl of noodles had cooled, steam no longer rising. Kyo looked at the hallway past the eat-in kitchen, but it was hard to tell the passage of time from here. Sure, his phone had it down to the hour and minute but it always felt different depending on the circumstances. Hours could feel like minutes and minutes like hours. Holding Iori's hand – the calluses on his fingertips stirring recent memories – Kyo waited for Chizuru's response.

"There are probably sponsors that won't mind."

"Which ones?" he asked, wanting to know. Kagura-san was a host of the tournament one year – the year she looped them into the anti-Orochi business – so information like this was within her purview.

"Look for the ones run by younger people. They're more encouraging on that front and less likely to judge."

"Do you have any names?"

"I can get you started, but you need to do your own research, Kusanagi-san."

A smirk from his red-haired lover; Kyo rolled his eyes.

"She's right, you know." Iori's expression softened into one of quiet amusement. "Have to put some effort into something you want."

"Will you help me?"

"Sure. But you still need to look. I'm not like Yabuki, Kyo."

"Won't ever mistake you for him."

A cheerful laugh emitted from his phone. "I'll send you a link, Kusanagi-san. You and Yagami-san can look around. Good luck."

"Thanks."

"Kagura," Iori said, directing his end of the conversation towards the one who initiated all this. "If you're forming an official team this year, I'm in."

"Yeah. Count me in as well. Might make it easier."

"So you won't have to fight each other?" Chizuru over the line, a thinker's tone shading her voice. "Hard to fake hatred if you don't carry it anymore."

"Yeah. That's part of it," Kyo admitted, idly running one of his fingers upwards towards the skin beneath Iori's ring. The other man watched him, eyes half-lidded. Kyo wondered if the sunlight in the main room was bright or mellow. How it'd look, casting the other's form in light and shadow.

"Part of it?" The redhead across from him scoffed. "All of it, you mean."

Kyo snorted.

"I'll call again after we receive the invites. Please do pick up next time, Yagami-san."

"I will if I'm not busy."

"Talk to you, then. Kusanagi-san, it's been nice speaking to you. You and Yagami-san take care of each other, okay?"

"We will."

Chizuru ended the call and Kyo watched his phone revert to its home screen. Within a matter of minutes, it'd soon go dark. Lunch over – Iori no longer interested in his food – Kyo disentangled his fingers and stood. His chair scraped along the floor, metal against plastic tiles. Iori, too, had risen and his gaze said everything for him.

Kyo closed the distance. "You look like you need a shower."

"Later."

"Now?"

"Yes."


	11. Dumplings

Two opened packages of dumpling skins, warmed to room temperature. Check.

A pot of filling – ground pork and chives – also ready. Check.

A bowl of water, cooled to room temperature. Check.

Chopsticks at the ready, lying on top of the pot of filling. Two, since Kyo was due to arrive shortly to help out. Check.

Iori rolled his sleeves back, folding the crisp fabric so that it wouldn't come loose. Taking a doughy dumpling skin – the pre-processed flour still on it – he started, finding the process calming. First, the meat filling. Then, the water around the edges of the circular skin. After, sealing the dough so that the filling was in a small self-contained edible pouch. His handiwork wasn't the neatest – he was better at taking things apart than putting them together – but as long as he didn't stress over how nice the dumplings looked, he managed.

There was a buzz over his apartment's intercom.

Placing the finished dumpling down on an empty plate on his dining table, Iori left the eat-in kitchen and went to the door. Checked through the peephole and unlatched the door. Opened it. "You're in time. Just got started." His hands were dusted with flour and bits of meat filling – would need a quick wash after this.

Kyo entered and removed his shoes and jacket. The shoes remained in the entranceway; the jacket was flung over the couch. Iori watched it land and turned his attention back to his lover, who was wind-swept (hair messy) and a bit more tan. Wherever Kyo was earlier, the sun followed. Unsurprising.

"Where are we –"

"The kitchen. Everything's set up."

Kyo followed him, the soft slap of his feet against the cool floor. "I don't usually do this, so…"

"Don't worry. If you can eat them, they'll be fine."

Upon returning to the kitchen, Iori turned to the sink, turned on the tap, and rinsed his hands clean. Wiped it dry on a hand towel and put the towel aside on the countertop. Kyo already had his hands full, pinching his first dumpling shut. The shape wasn't perfect – somewhat lopsided – but Iori's wasn't much better and he knew it. Picking up his second dumpling skin from the package, he looked at Kyo and jerked his chin towards the sink.

The other man got his point and put his dumpling down.

Iori heard the sound of running water behind him. Finished his second dumpling and placed it next to Kyo's, which was drooping. While hot water and a bit of boiling should do it, a bad bout of food poisoning would spoil whatever appetite he had for dumplings. He still remembered the night he ate something bad – whatever it was – and how his guts seemed to turn inside-out. He'd cursed and sweated and was sick for a while. Even now, that place was off limits to him, since he didn't want a repeat experience.

The water turned off. The soft sound of the hand towel being tossed onto the countertop.

"How many are we making?"

"However much you can eat. We can make meatballs afterward, if there's filling left."

His fourth dumpling settled on the plate comfortably next to its fellows. If Kyo's drooped, then his slouched. Undeterred, Iori continued making his, glancing occasionally at Kyo's progress. He could tell Kyo wasn't experienced at it – did he ever make them with his family? – but the man persisted, adding to their growing number. They worked in silence for several minutes until the plate was full and Iori swapped in a new one.

Kyo's dumpling was the first to claim that plate.

"My mom usually makes these."

It explained his inexperience. "Do you help?"

"Sometimes. Not lately, though."

Iori added a few more to join Kyo's, each one packed with abundant filling. He liked meat – always had as a child. Meat gave him strength and it tasted good. He needed strength as a child when he had to prove himself to his father, so he had plenty at mealtimes. Even now with nothing to prove, he still made sure to have some form of protein on the table. It just wasn't fulfilling without some.

"What about you? How'd you learn, Yagami?"

He pinched a dumpling shut and added it to the plate. Picked up another dumpling skin.

"I left home early. Learned to fend for myself."

"You…lived alone? As a kid?"

"Was fifteen already. Learned stuff to survive."

"Like making dumplings?"

"Had to eat. One of my neighbors was an old woman. Took pity on me. Used to bring me food."

"Dumplings?" An incredulous tone in Kyo's voice.

"Some other stuff, too." Looking back, he must've been hungry and grateful, if the woman's pity didn't cause him to reject her goodwill. He was also in high school at the time and needed the food. "I learned later on…how to do this."

"But just enough to make it."

Kyo must've noticed the equally lousy shapes occupying his side of the plate. "It was edible." Laying another set of dumplings down, Iori peeled some of the caked flour and meat filling off his fingertips. "Come on. Let's finish this."

Two plates later, filled with terribly constructed yet sealed dumplings, they moved onto the next phase for dinner. Iori tossed the now-damp hand towel at Kyo, requesting him to wipe down the table and arrange the settings. They had four platefuls of dumplings to boil – he'd take care of that part.

"Soy sauce is in the fridge. Rice vinegar and _mirin_ are in the lower cabinet. Yuzu paste is in the drawer to your left."

"Yuzu paste?"

"Gives the sauce some bite." Iori studied the water in the larger pot on the stove for bubbles. "The Chinese use chili paste, but it's too strong for me."

"Mom likes using _mirin_ , soy sauce, and some shredded ginger."

"Don't have ginger, but do what you can."

"Okay."

While Kyo gathered the ingredients for the sauce to go with the dumplings, Iori gazed down at the water in the pot. Small bubbles began to form at the bottom, similar to the thoughts rising in his mind. Those early days when he was younger and angrier, but in need of necessities and often hungry. A woman who could've avoided him – he wasn't pleasant, but he was fifteen and still round of face – yet gave him provisions to last the day or the next few days. He'd been hungry enough to consider some things, but certain possibilities impinged on his honor and dignity and he refused to lower himself for small cash.

He was a fighter. Is a fighter. There are still some things he'd never do.

"Sauce is ready," Kyo said, interrupting his thoughts. The other man walked over and stood by his side. Looked down at the plates. "Think we can finish those?"

The bubbles are larger now. Starting to rise.

He waited. The water should be boiling, a disturbance at the top like a storm at sea. Memories again and he shut them down, forbidding them to shape his future. Who he is now was shaped by those – by those four years before he encountered Kyo in his very first tournament – but there are different influences at work now. He turned, facing the one guiding him forward – the main force in his life, circumstances completely changed.

"If you can't, there's always leftovers."

"Don't mind leftovers."

After some time, the water hit boiling peak and Iori dumped the first plate of dumplings in. Kyo, watching, handed him a clean plate for the first cooked batch. Assisted him as they went through boiling the next three platefuls, each one increasing their hunger. Four plates of cooked dumplings were on the table, sauces spooned or poured into ceramic bowls, and chopsticks wielded like weapons against those homemade morsels.

Iori took a bite. Was pleasantly surprised by the taste and the sauce. "Hmm…a bit less chives next time, but…" Dipped the dumpling into the dark sauce again, which was tart and slightly peppery from the yuzu paste. "You got it just right, Kyo."

"I did?"

"Yeah."

They ate in silence – appetites awakened and it was the dinner hour – and before they knew it, four plates were empty and they were full. Kyo put his chopsticks down on top of his bowl, leaned back, and exhaled. "That was good, Yagami. You're right – less chives. Dough's a bit chewy, though."

"You know a better brand?"

"I'll ask around. Mom probably knows."

Dinner was done and there were dishes to wash. Iori passed a hand over his eyes, satisfied yet tired. "Can you stay tonight?"

"Don't have any plans."

"That's good."

Jazz music in the main room and Kyo's company. He doesn't want anything else tonight and sometimes, nothing else was required. Iori left his chair, left the bowls, plates, and utensils on the table and headed for the main room. Kyo followed, the soft scraping of his chair marking his presence.

Enough, and all he needed right now.


	12. Red

"Did red hair always run in your bloodline?" Kyo liked Iori's hair, the way it fell to cover the other's face. It made his lover look mysterious with one eye hidden, emphasizing the other half of his face with its high cheekbone. Some of the fighting contestants thought it looked goth, which Kyo could see if Iori dressed like that, but goth wasn't a fitting description for Yagami. Neither was emo, but those from the West called him that, too.

It was difficult, Kyo realized, to pin Yagami down to any one label.

He did like his hair, though. It was soft and the color was unlike anything seen here in Japan (hair dyes were a chemical exception and not natural). Of course, Yagami knew that, since he often brushed back his hair to see the rest of his face. Iori looked different with both eyes revealed. An openness there. He sometimes looked younger, too.

"It did after a certain point."

"So the Yasakani clan started out like the rest of us?"

"Think so." Iori's brow creased in thought; the man reclined on the couch, one hand bookmarking a slim novel. He also had beautiful hands, Kyo thought. "You remember Heidern's girl? Leona?"

"Yeah."

"Remember the time she Blood Rioted in '97?"

"What does that have to do with…oh." His recollection of that startling moment late in the tournament was still clear. Leona's hair was blue, itself a strange and unique color. But when she Rioted, it turned red. An unmistakable bright red, similar to Yagami's. "Her hair."

"Nothing in the clan records states anything outside of the norm."

"At the time of its founding?"

"Yeah." Iori shifted slightly, readjusting his position on the couch. His body was long and muscled, molding itself to the couch's dimensions with languorous ease. He could be envious of that, Kyo thought and probably was. The other man moved through life nonchalantly – with defiance – and all his motions were graceful akin to a wild predator. "Might've changed once we made the pact with Orochi."

"So if it wasn't for that, you might have black hair?"

"Or brown. We did take after you Kusanagi for a time."

Kyo tried to imagine – couldn't – Iori with dark or brown hair. His eyes would be different, too – wouldn't be reddish-brown. An odd thought, that. "I…can't see you like that." Red seemed to be the only color suitable for Iori, and not just because he'd seen him like this for years. It would change everything about him: normal and plain instead of bold and colorful (even with his weird fashion sense), the first impression of cold calculation instead of controlled frenzy, and because everything boiled down to appearance, what dark or brown hair would do to that face. Shadows instead of brightness. A cheekbone not accentuated.

"You wouldn't have known the difference if I did."

"You'd be Yasakani, then, and we wouldn't have been rivals."

"No." A crisp sound as Iori lifted the book off his chest and turned a page. "We'd be friends or sworn brothers and Orochi would've been sealed by us a long time ago. Kagura might've been like an older sister, even."

"You mean she isn't now?"

Iori snorted. "Less of a sister and more like a mother."

"Is that our fault?"

"Perhaps."

He really did like Iori's hair. Lifted his hand to sweep it aside, red against pale skin. Two eyes focused on him instead of one. "You mentioned your clan records. You can read them?"

"Yeah. You can't?"

"It's all _kanji_ and old ones, too. Don't recognize most of them."

"Bring them here. Shouldn't be hard to figure out what your ancestors did or were."

"Where'd you learn this stuff anyway?" It wasn't like they taught ancient Chinese characters in high school. Not even the history classes did, unless it was university-level and he never made it that far.

"Tutors." Iori closed the book, not looking away from him. "You might find some stories of our ancestors fighting and killing each other, though." A slight smile there – a trace of sardonic amusement. "We can see whose are better."

A callback to their previous rivalry. He matched Iori's smile with one of his own. "And you call me insufferable."

"You are."

Red against pale and brown mingling with it. "We'll see about that, won't we?"


	13. Mortality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been reading Lord of the Rings fanfic (another favorite fandom of mine) involving Legolas and Gimli and the constant referencing of the difference in mortality/life span between the two friends reminded me of a similarity with Kyo and Iori. It doesn't matter so much if they are diehard rivals/frenemies, but it would be the constant elephant in the room if Kyo and Iori moved past that and became extremely close and intimate with each other. There are some other fics of mine in which I've addressed this before (not yet on AO3), but it never hurts to examine how Iori's short life span would affect them both.
> 
> Some hurt/comfort here.

The blood kept coming, dripping red onto the floor and it _hurt_. He should be used to this by now – it came intermittently since the day Goenitz awakened the Riot of Blood – but each time, it felt like his insides were being scraped raw. His fingers dug into the floor, drawing crimson streaks into wood turned to sawdust and he couldn't breathe around the burning stream issuing from his throat.

He made a desperate sound – a shameful whimper of pain – and it was as though his limbs melted. He felt his body giving way, his vision tunneling narrow and dark, and hoped Kyo was still asleep. Wouldn't see him like this.

Iori always knew – had been made painfully aware – of his mortal limitations. Unlike everyone else, he had a designated time limit and each birthday that passed meant another year closer to death. He knew, but…

It would happen. It came with his bloodline.

Orochi said something in his head and for once, the agony overwhelmed the god's caustic mockery. Taste of metal in his mouth, cloying and sickening in the back of his throat and he was too weak to lift his head and spit out excess blood.

He hadn't physically aged since Orochi once again entered the world stage and…. If time reverted – if the years caught up, like a rubber band released to snap back into its original shape – would he just immediately drop dead?

At least he wouldn't suffer, doing so.

Liquid red puddling around his flattened cheek, spreading and he drew a shaky breath that didn't fill his lungs. Panic flared for the briefest span of seconds and Iori heard himself make another sound. It was…it sounded like…

Then urgent footsteps by him. " _Yagami!_ "

Alarm in Kyo's voice, for it was Kyo. He'd awakened him and a part of Iori hated it. Kyo should've continued to sleep, blissfully unaware that he suffered so but because he couldn't keep himself silent…

"Yagami? Are you…" Callused fingers against his bare shoulder. "Does it hurt?"

His hair covered his eyes, hiding the telltale tears that always came unbidden because of the pain. He managed a small nod, chin angling down and noticed once again how much brighter the blood was compared to his hair.

Kyo's hands against his shoulders, gently removing him from the mess on the floor. He felt lightweight – always did, afterwards – and the other settled him against his lap, holding him tight.

"Does this…" An awkward silence as Iori sensed Kyo fumbling for the right words. "Does it happen often?"

It occurred more and more as the years went by – the countless years that could always snap back and kill him – but Kyo didn't need to know that.

He breathed instead, trying to regain the air in his lungs.

Kyo held him in the stillness of the main room, a solid foundation. The physical pain was still there – subsiding, but like knives buried in his abused guts – and yet…yet, this was the first time he wasn't alone, dealing with unspoken terror and the inevitability of a much shorter life.

"If this…" A measured pause. "If it happens again and I'm here…let me know."

He had less than thirty full years and he was twenty now.

Kyo knew – used to deride him about his lifespan in the past during those early years of their rivalry. Had wished for him to drop dead at one point.

A pain from before – a memory not worth clinging to.

He nodded, but couldn't vocalize a promise.

"Does this happen to…everyone? Or just the men?"

He could breathe now. Could speak but his voice was thin and exhausted. "Just…the men."

"Then…"

Iori nodded again, confirming the truth.

Kyo's arms tightened around him, a stalwart shield against that future. It would happen, but their relationship was young and Iori didn't wish to pull pain into it. Not his pain – it was too soon for that. Kyo didn't need to know details, some of which Iori wasn't even sure about. The only thing he could think of – the only positivity he could muster – was that at best, he had nine more years.

Years snapping back, collapsing time onto itself.

He hoped it didn't happen.

"Do you feel better now?"

He was tired, but at least it wasn't a full-out Riot. Just the thought tightened his gut, spiking a new fear into his weary and battered mind. He nodded for the third time, unable to respond in his usual way. Above him, Kyo's expression changed.

"I won't leave."

He was anchored here, Kyo's presence driving away Orochi and his influence. The pain ebbed but he remained where he was, unwilling to move. Time froze, as maudlin as it sounded, granting him this moment – this night – as another memory to hold dear.

Nine years. If he was fortunate.

"You don't…" He stopped.

"I want to." A knowing look entered Kyo's gaze. "You're welcome."

Iori didn't say anything. Simply rested, content where he lay.


	14. Ice Hockey

"What are you watching?" Iori sometimes left the television on for background noise, but when that happened, Kyo never paid attention to it. Different when he sat before it, smoking a cigarette and focused. He stepped inside the other's bedroom, drawn to the glow of the screen.

"Ice hockey. It's a rerun from last year."

"What?" He knew Iori was into sports – apparently, was good at _all_ of them – but ice hockey was one sport he was decent at and…. "Are you reading my bio again?"

"Don't need to."

"Got it memorized?"

"Mostly." An idle flick of Iori's hand, the red glow of his cigarette like a firefly in the dark. "Have you here now, so unnecessary."

"Charmed."

Iori snorted. Kyo chuckled.

He took a seat beside the other man, resting against his warmth. Iori glanced at him, gaze fixed for a second or two, and then returned back to the television. From what Kyo saw, one of the players from the defending team had just been hit with a minor penalty. He'd missed the action from before, so he wasn't sure for what.

"That was stupid."

"What'd he do?"

"Tripped someone."

When Kyo used to play with his friends – some borrowed time in a designated ice rink – that occurrence was common. Came with the sport, which also had an international reputation for brawling. "You've played before?"

"A little here and there." Iori shrugged, shoulder rolling back against his. "My high school wasn't wealthy enough for an ice hockey club. I made do." The man took a long drag from his cigarette and blew out the smoke. It swirled in the air and disappeared. On the television, the challenging team was nearing the defending team's end zone. Kyo hoped the defending goaltender was ready.

"So if I wanted to play a game against you this winter…"

"Is that a challenge, Kusanagi?"

"You say you're good at all sports. But I've never –"

"So you want to put it to the test." A slight smile formed on Iori's face. "See if my boast is true."

"That, and see if you fall on your ass on the ice." Kyo smirked, enjoying this light banter. "You're not the only one who reads bios, Yagami."

"You have mine memorized?"

"Mostly."

Iori smirked, then, mirroring him. The sound of a goal scored – the game had shifted and the challenging team failed to defend their end zone – and the second round concluded. Kyo repositioned himself against Iori, sitting upright instead of slouching and pointed at the television. "Bet the home team wins."

"Bet they don't."

"Ha! What will you wager?" The smell of smoke and the clean scent of Iori's skin. "Should be something embarrassing."

"Should've let me decide."

"Something less embarrassing?"

"No, you idiot." Yagami sucked down another mouthful of smoke before letting it out and turning to him. "If you let me decide, you'd abide by the same. But since you want something embarrassing…" A familiar grin appeared, one that meant Iori was up to no good. "It'd be too easy having you wear a dress –"

"You've worn a dress before?"

Iori ignored him. "You never graduated high school, so…"

"Oh fuck. Don't tell me you're gonna…"

"Act out a play that you've never paid attention to in class. Male _and_ female roles. Record it."

"You're a sadist, you know that?"

"So what will my penalty be?" There was a commotion on the television screen – one of those epic fights – but Kyo refocused on the thread of Iori's voice. "What will I do if I lose, Kyo?"

"Does anything embarrass you? I mean, it sounds like you've worn a dress –"

"There's always something," Iori said, leaving him with only that.

Kyo thought and dismissed all ideas of obvious embarrassments. He'd fluster easily with certain suggestions, but those would simply slide off Yagami without any aftereffects. If there was something that would make Iori squirm and not leave any major repercussions down the line, then…

He smiled.

"Next time we're together outside, kiss me."

"What?"

"I know public displays of affection aren't your thing. But if you're gonna have me act out a play –"

"Just like that? Outta the –"

"Not outside your apartment. Next time we're out. You know."

Iori colored perceptibly, even against the artificial glow of the television screen. The cigarette in his hand was forgotten, lying across his lap even as he glanced away. The game was back, several minutes before the end of round three; yet, none of them paid it any attention. Beside him, Iori cleared his throat. Turned back to look at him and nodded.

"So you're okay with it?"

"Deal."

"I'll find the easiest play. You don't want to hear my falsetto."

"Kyo?"

"Yeah?"

"I accept your challenge. Assemble your team. I'll play against you in winter."

"Don't fall on your ass, Yagami."

"Tch. Show me what you've got."


	15. Good News

_I got a sponsor!_ The text message couldn't have been more euphoric and if Kyo was anything like Yabuki, Iori could imagine him punching the air. It was a good thing Kyo wasn't like his one-time student. _Some paperwork and then I'm all set!_

Iori had helped him glean through the starter list that Kagura provided, discarding names and selecting certain ones to contact. He'd compiled the final list, all with contacts and their information, and told Kyo it was his responsibility to call or e-mail. If Kyo wanted his replacement sponsor that badly – he did – then Kyo needed to pull his own weight.

It was, therefore, rewarding to find their efforts weren't in vain.

_Congrats._ Short and simple. _You looking to celebrate?_

_Wait 'til I get it in writing. Then, we can hit that bar._

It was like a shot of whiskey going down, warming him from inside. _You really like it that much, huh?_

_Can't think of a better place._

Iori had taken some time out of his schedule today and swung by the old family estate. While the traditional Yagami estate hadn't been neglected – they still had members of a branch family keeping the place tidy – there were property matters to resolve. He'd gotten the notices in the mail from the appropriate government authorities and decided not to waste any time.

Rising taxes and keeping the place from being torn down despite regulations was its own battle.

_You still owe me a play._ A slight hint of mischief there, which only Kyo would pick up on. _Have you decided on one yet?_

While he waited for Kyo's response, Iori spotted a servant on the outer walkway. Her sleeves were bound back and her hair was covered by a cloth wrapping. It was traditional – suitable here, where it seemed time hadn't caught up – and as he entered her periphery, the woman startled and bowed. Despite being heir, he wasn't prone to dropping by often, so her reaction was to be expected.

Silently, he nodded and passed by her. He felt her gaze on his back.

The _shoji_ lining the right wing's exterior needed minor repairs. He could afford to sink some funds into its maintenance. Money wasn't an issue for him.

_Already started practicing. You'll find out soon enough._

_Got an audience?_

_You know how often my dad drops by and watches? It's amusing to him, I swear. Although, when I told him you put me up to this, he gained some respect for you. Some proper schooling, he said. Whatever that means._

Iori snickered. _Maybe he thinks you can finally graduate._

_Not happening. I'm done with school._

Rubbing it in would be too easy, but knowing how sore Kyo got about his delinquent (now expired) high school status, Iori refrained from further comment. He entered the central courtyard and stood there, observing the well-kept step stones and tended foliage. In the distance, he heard the rhythmic hollow 'thud' of a bamboo water fountain. It was tranquil here, far removed from his childhood memories.

_Dad was surprised you're well-read, you know._

He could only imagine why. _Did he think I was illiterate?_

_Nah. Just associating a foaming at the mouth Rioting rival and books doesn't…you know._

_Can't say I blame him._ After all, his first impression left on Kyo back in the day consisted of being a stalking, raging, and obsessive boor. Even Yuki, Kyo's ex, had doubted his sincerity in this relationship. Changing the mind of Saisyu Kusanagi would take much more effort, not that Iori sought to impress him.

_Yeah, well…he's laughing at my falsetto. Hope your ears are strong enough._

_If I can tolerate your rock music, they are._

_Yeah but you've never heard me high-pitched._

The image was hilarious – Kyo pitching his octave higher to mimic a feminine voice – and Iori guffawed right there in the courtyard. If servants were about, they probably wondered why the heir was laughing for no apparent reason. While Iori had indeed worn a dress in his younger days – not that Kyo needed that confirmed – he hadn't maintained his falsetto very well. Kyo wasn't the only one lacking in that area, but Iori decided to hold onto his little secret.

_I'm sure you'll surprise._

_If your ears bleed, don't blame me. You set the conditions._

_Wouldn't have happened if you'd let me choose the wager._ Iori smirked. _But that's why you're an idiot, right?_

_As much as you sometimes._ Pause. _What're you up to?_

From the courtyard, Iori traversed onto the walkway, heading into the left wing. He'd take some pictures later as evidence of the estate's condition, in case he needed them to prove why his ancestral home should remain intact. Regulations be damned – there wasn't a need to demolish every home. He avoided certain rooms – some carrying dark memories – but mentally cataloged what he noticed.

There were servants here, too. The wooden walkways were in need of cleaning and polishing.

_Does your home ever run afoul of the authorities?_

A few seconds before Kyo's reply. _No. Not that I know of._

_Since I don't live at the old estate, the local government's considering tearing it down. Taking care of that matter now so that they don't._

_Why? Can't you get it protected? Like a historical relic?_

_What historical relic? It's not Osaka Castle, Kyo._

_Six hundred and sixty years of history means nothing to them?_

_If the Yagami estate had a daimyo or shogun, perhaps. But we were our own entity. Nothing important revolved around us. Except the business with Orochi._

Several long seconds before Kyo's response pelted his screen with speech bubbles. _Yeah, but if it wasn't for us, Japan wouldn't be here right now. Your clan, despite the break with ours, still contributed to keeping Orochi sealed. If they're so ungrateful that they see your home as fodder, then…. I mean, I get it. We need more room, but if they want to put an apartment building there or something…_

_That doesn't concern me. It's just…important in a different way._

_It's your home, Yagami. Roots._

_I know. That's why._

He left the enclosing left wing, passing a few chattering servants who also gave him a flurry of surprised bows, and walked towards the estate's main gate. The gate also needed maintenance – additional funds – and even their family plaque could be replaced. Maybe he'd locate a local craftsman who specialized in wood carving and sign making.

It wouldn't restore the luster of his clan, but that was in the past.

The only thing it'd do was keep them relevant.

_What are you doing, Kyo? Besides the sponsor?_

_Besides making Dad laugh his ass off? I'll be sparring with Beni and Daimon later._

Sparring was always exciting. It stirred his blood. _Let me know when we can do that again._

_Sure. Hey, can you show me some of your clan records? I wanna compare._

_Compare what?_

_The language. Dad told me it's archaic, which is why I can't read it. Wanna know if yours has similarities. Might be able to pin down the time period._

After the servants cleared out and he got his photos, a quick trip to the archives wouldn't be amiss. Scrolls, clothbound and stitched books, and several tomes of his clan's historical records. Old personages, biased accounts of battles – the Kusanagi's probably the same – and genealogies dating back to the beginning. He'd tried going through the family tree once and got lost, with how often the branch families intersected to introduce new blood into the clan. The women, for instance, were never mentioned by their true names – only by names adopted once they married into the Yagami clan.

As it was, he never found out what his mother's real name was.

_If you see just hiragana, you've probably stumbled onto the women's writing. Heian era. Just kanji – men's domain. Back when Japan relied on China._

_You're a real fount of knowledge, Yagami._

_I'm surprised you know that word._

_Hey, I'm not that stupid._ A moment of inactivity on the text application. _I would like to celebrate this latest great news with you, though._

_So drinks?_

_Maybe more after. Your call._

His cheeks burned. _That sounds…_

_No rush. We can decide once I get the contract signed and stashed away._

Iori glanced from the phone towards the sky and its bright burning sun. He blinked as a small breeze blew past. _Maybe I can…I'm curious._

_Heh. Why not?_

He still remembered a lighter and how soft Kyo's lips were. He wanted to be the one imparting that to Kyo this time. Give and take, a full reciprocal process. He wanted it badly.

_I'll let you go. Got this play to get back to._

_Tell your old man to leave you alone._

_Won't work. He's having too much fun._

_Heh._ His finger lingered over the digital keyboard. He typed in the rest and hit 'Send'. _Drinks, Kyo. Once you're ready._

_Always, Yagami. See you soon._

_See you soon, Kyo._


	16. Protective

It was liberating being outside on a nice day – sunlight warming his back – even as Kyo encountered Yuki downtown. A coincidence and a pleasant one, since they'd parted well. He hadn't expected to run into her while grabbing lunch to go but exchanging niceties was okay. Safe, even.

"How are you doing, Kyo?"

"Okay." While his attention was for Yagami now, Kyo still had to admit Yuki looked pretty in her summer dress. "What about you?"

"Nothing much. Just work." She leaned closer, peering at him. "You seem happy. How's he treating you?"

"Yagami?" He said this with confidence, refusing to lower his voice. "He's more than he appears, Yuki."

"How so?"

Iori's reputation as a violent and unstable man preceded him; little wonder Yuki wanted to know, curious about Kyo's attraction to him. Time had passed since their first meeting and he was alive and healthy. Yet, Yuki still seemed protective over him – a carryover from earlier days when Yagami was unreasonable – and Kyo couldn't blame her. Not everyone saw Iori the way he did.

Hell, even he hadn't until recently.

The line they stood in shifted forward.

Yuki took a step and then turned back to face him, waiting for his answer.

"He's complicated. Like the rest of us."

"In what way?"

Kyo frowned. While Iori did have a softer side, this wasn't an aspect the other man wanted others to know. Yagami relied on his unsavory reputation to keep everyone else away – those he mistrusted or didn't care to know. Revealing this would break the other's trust in him, because somehow (Kyo didn't know how) Yagami would find out. If he discovered Kyo had spilled the details to his ex…

"He's not just a fighter. Has other interests."

"Besides you?"

"Yes." Kyo knew Yuki was correct. He didn't need to directly acknowledge it, though. "He's into music. Likes to read."

This time, Yuki's brow furrowed. "And you don't."

"Yeah."

The line moved forward again and this time, they were one person away from the ordering station. Yuki dug in her purse, removing her wallet. "As long as he treats you well, I'm not worried."

"You seem worried."

"Only because…" A few _yen_ bills were in Yuki's slender hand. "He seems so volatile. Hard to trust he won't turn on you, Kyo."

"I'm still here."

"I hope it stays that way."

"It will." He hadn't seen anything untoward yet; hopefully, it'd stay that way. "Once you know him, he's not any different from the rest of us."

"Music?"

"Jazz. He plays bass guitar."

"He has good taste," Yuki said pleasantly. "You like it?"

"Getting used to it. Kinda slow. Almost lazy."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that." Yuki giggled and then the man before her left, making her the next to order. "I'll be –"

"Take your time."

While his ex ordered her lunch, Kyo pulled out his cell phone and checked the text application. He and Yagami exchanged messages on the days they couldn't meet up. Mundane stuff, but it didn't matter. Iori could be explaining about the latest tax hike on property and Kyo would read and respond. Official family business was confidential, but he could lay out the general issues and Yagami, with his position as heir, would give him pointers on how to proceed.

It was interesting now, seeing how their lives ran in parallel.

There were several messages, conveying one thing, sent half an hour ago.

_Have a performance coming up. Small jazz club downtown three nights from now. You interested?_

He'd missed the last one because of clan affairs. Seeing Iori in his element on stage would help him understand his lover better. He knew Iori Yagami the fighter; Iori Yagami the lover, he was still getting to know. Even though they slept together, the physical and emotional were different. One was easily assuaged; the other took more time. Rough edges and all, parts of their personalities. Strengths and flaws, the surface of which they only knew from their former rivalry.

Kyo typed quickly, because he was up next in line.

_What time? Where?_

Then, it was his turn to order. He shoved the phone back into his pocket.

* * *

He and Yuki parted ways amicably, since Yuki had to return to work. Kyo found a place to sit and ate his lunch, then strolled through downtown. He dove into shops and browsed without buying anything. His phone didn't vibrate, which meant Yagami was preoccupied as well. Between the upcoming performance and the old estate issue, Iori had his hands full.

Running a clan, even as an heir, took an enormous amount of time. It was also fraught with legal and interfamilial difficulties. His parents guided and helped him, small advances towards his future rank as head patriarch. Iori, being the only one left in his clan, didn't have family to worry about. Legal matters, however, still existed.

Kyo stretched, basking in the sun.

Whenever Iori replied back, he'd go check out the club. He was already downtown, after all and it was a perfect day for walking.

For reflection without worries.

Kyo wasn't worried at all. He and Yagami would figure each other out in their own time at their own pace. Whatever happened, they'd have each other's backs. They'd done it as reluctant allies. Surely, they could do it as lovers.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Kyo reached for it.


	17. Music and Trust

Kyo was in the audience, inconspicuous in the back. They'd meet up afterwards outside, but Iori understood why Kyo kept distance. Like himself, Kyo Kusanagi was a household name and if anyone knew he was here, the spotlight could shift from Iori and the band over to Kyo. Attention seeker though his lover was, Kyo also came here to see him perform – a first for Kyo – so that meant staying at the darkest table in the back. Besides the soft glint of steel chain near his pants pocket, Kyo's clothing colors were subdued and dark.

Iori looked in his direction, fingers already placed in their proper position on the guitar, and then refocused on his band members. Their drummer sitting behind him grinned and their saxophonist adjusted his neck strap. To his far right, their keyboardist sat, hands ready on black and white. Next to the mike, their singer stepped forward, cleared her throat, and addressed the audience.

"Everyone, thank you for coming! We are delighted to be here!"

The audience cheered, a loud sound in the small club. In a bigger venue with a larger crowd, they might've clapped as well. Iori glanced towards the back – Kyo's presence here an additional bolster – which only lasted a split second, since the drums started up behind him. In a few measures, he'd accompany and then the music would begin in earnest.

He mentally counted the beats. Joined in with the first chords, the rich deep bass reverberating on the small stage and throughout the club's sound system. A thrill ran through him, through his fingers on the hard strings. He loved this – always had. Looked out at the audience, faces rapt and wondered what Kyo's expression was like. He couldn't see it from here.

The first note from the saxophone, sensuous and full.

Iori swayed to the harmonious beats, fighting off the urge to close his eyes.

He could get lost in the music, but it wasn't just him. He wasn't playing for himself – he was part of the band and they had old and new fans to entertain. Listening to the musical cues was a part of it, which he'd miss if he lost himself completely in the rhythm and sound washing over the stage.

He wasn't here to grandstand. He was, simply, a part of the whole.

Their singer cut loose, her voice clear and bright – another layer to the jazz – and their audience ate it up. Clapping and cheers, which energized them and gave more drive to their music. Their offering to the small crowd.

Kyo in the back. Watching and listening.

Iori played and they wrapped up the first song to the sound of applause.

The next song had drum and keyboard solos. The third song's solo was his. He'd practiced the solo by himself and during rehearsals, improvising where needed. Improvisation was an important skill for musicians, especially for jazz, and while he had a natural knack for it, he also applied himself. A good solo did much to propel a musician to greater heights and Iori reached for the stars, so to say.

Their second offering of the night was also well-received.

Iori settled himself into the core of the music for the third – riding the high of the notes – and when it was his turn to shine, he forgot all else and let himself cut loose. He moved forward on the stage, allowing a confident strut and belted out the chords. People listened; people waved their hands – not too different from a bigger venue's audience – and he stepped to the edge of the stage.

His musical idols did this in the industry. It fired the blood up and encouraged excitement.

Iori leaned into the music, against the curved edge of his guitar and delivered what felt like the best solo of his life. The ensuing applause crowned it; yet in the end, he was just a part of the whole. He returned to his position on the stage and continued to play until the song concluded. He could bask in the glory of it later, when the performance was all done.

Sweat rolled down his face. It was hot. Stage lights, the number of people here, and the sheer exuberance of his playing. The others were like him, hair matted to their foreheads and wet with perspiration. He wanted a smoke and a cold drink afterwards. A chance to air out the heat from beneath his clothes.

Kyo.

He wondered and then it was their fourth song of the night, dominated by their alternating saxophonist and singer. He slipped into the background, providing the beats that grounded the piece along with the drums. They all shared in the glory tonight, cementing their reputation in Osaka's jazz scene.

They closed, not surprisingly, to overwhelming applause and cheers.

"Thank you, everyone!" their singer said, a smile in her voice. "We have Kenzo Miyazawa on the sax." Cheers and clapping followed. "Ryuji Yamaha on the keyboard." The acoustics of the small club brought out the enthusiasm of their fans loud and clear. "Eisuke Ogawa on the drums." Another round of well-contented sounds. "Iori Yagami on the bass guitar."

The applause that followed was sweet. Iori looked towards the back and thought he glimpsed Kyo clapping as well. At least, he hoped he was. Then, Kenzo took the place at the mike, giving the last of the evening's glory to their singer.

"Harumi Sakamori, our singer."

If the place was any smaller, Iori reflected, it would've brought the house down.

Then, they got together to do their joint bows and the performance was over.

* * *

Between mingling with his fans – old and new, men and women both – Iori bought a cold can of soda at the bar and put it in his overcoat's pocket. The others circled, making the rounds and signing autographs as well. There was a group surrounding Harumi, whose repute as a jazz singer skyrocketed with each well-delivered performance. Iori didn't talk much to her – or anyone else for that matter besides business – but he supposed her success was something he could support.

"Yagami."

A quiet voice in the crowd, his name spoken in a tone that gave nothing away. He turned, facing Kyo up-close and personal for the first time tonight.

"That was great," the other man said, depth of feeling in his eyes. "You looked carefree up there."

He was. It was another side of him the music industry knew, but very few others saw. Kyo had seen it now and liked it. Accepted it. Said it in the open with others surrounding them.

Iori didn't care what the others thought.

"I'll be outside."

Kyo would be waiting out front. Unlike him, Kyo thrived among people – wasn't the kind to seek solitude in hidden places. Iori nodded. Kyo placed a hand on his upper arm – an open declaration – and stepped away amidst glances and low murmurs. Iori watched him leave, ignoring the voices around him and decided his late-night smoke could be delayed by a few hours.

* * *

"You have quite a few fans."

"Jealous?" Iori asked, tucking his hands into his coat pockets and glancing at the sky before returning his gaze to Kyo. They stood beneath the awning of a closed shop, dimly illuminated by the neon sign of the open eatery next to them. Its business was brisk, customers entering and leaving.

"Should I be?"

Iori shook his head. "Maybe in the past, but…"

"If I ever do, feel free to knock some sense into me."

"Why?"

Beside him, Kyo scuffed asphalt with the side of his shoe. "'Cause it means I don't trust you."

Iori stared at Kyo, unsure how to respond.

"I met Yuki a few days ago while getting lunch." Kyo held his gaze, not looking away. "Seems like she's fine with us. Better than before."

"You met her?" A sudden discomfort in the pit of his stomach, and Iori realized what Kyo meant about jealousy. It prickled him, an unsettling emotion. "You spoke to her?"

"Yeah. I did. Nothing happened." Kyo's gaze was level with his. "You trust me, right, Yagami?"

He couldn't deny the twisting anxiety – a stab of white-hot turmoil, rage disallowed – and fought to keep it from flaring into something uncontrollable. "I…" He knew Kyo wouldn't lie to him, but…. "She didn't…?"

"Why would she?"

Iori fell silent.

"Yagami, I'm with you now. You know that."

He did, but…. "Nothing happened?"

"No."

He dug out a cigarette and lit it. Took a deep drag, smothering the vicious entwined feelings under soothing nicotine. Kyo looked at him, gaze unwavering and Iori turned aside to blow out the smoke. Beside them, the eatery's door opened and closed, spilling light onto pavement.

"Trust comes hard to me, Kyo."

"Your exes?"

"Just me." He inhaled in more smoke. Let it out. "My old man."

Kyo's gaze softened. "What happened?"

"Training happened."

"You lost trust in him. When he –"

"I was supposed to kill you. Your clan. Bring my clan glory. My old man wanted a son, but he also wanted a killer." Iori sucked down another mouthful of smoke, relying on old comfort. Released it. "I didn't like being hurt. But he insisted. To harden me, he said. You know what it's like when I can't trust that he won't hurt me? When the clan told me it's for my own good?"

This time, Kyo stared at him. "Yagami…"

"It's easier not to trust. Because I won't get hurt."

"But you trust me, right?"

The cigarette between his fingers bent slightly. "I do. It's just…"

"Well, I trust you, Yagami. And if this is gonna work, you have to trust me. I know you don't like it when I bring her up, but Yuki trusted me. Didn't give her any reasons not to. I trusted her. That's why I told her when we –"

"Ended up together."

"Yeah. That's why we're still friends." Kyo reached out and touched his hand, careful of the cigarette. "That's why nothing will happen."

Iori didn't say anything.

"This'll take time. We know that."

"It's just…" He paused. "What if…" He stopped talking, uncertain.

"No ifs, Yagami." Kyo's voice, serious and mild, warmer than the eatery's artificial lights. "Not happening."

He could've leaned forward and kissed Kyo, but they were in public and he wasn't comfortable doing so even at night. There were people walking around, passing them from either direction. Kyo leaned back against the shop's rolling door, hands disappearing into his jeans pockets.

"I like you on stage. You looked confident."

"It's my life." Music was where he genuinely belonged. Fighting came second.

"I can tell."

The door next to them opened again, tempting smells of prepared food wafting out.

"You want something to eat?"

Iori discarded his cigarette. "Yeah. That sounds good."


	18. Care

Kyo awoke to the sound of Iori coughing, pillows and bedsheets spattered red in the early dawn light. On his side of the bed, the redhead hunched over, shoulders drawn inward by violent exertions. Ignoring the fresh bloodstains, Kyo scrambled over, upsetting the top bedspread. Yagami's hair was tousled and messy, falling over his face and as Kyo approached, he saw blood on the floor.

Uncertain, but not knowing what else to do, he placed a hand between Iori's shoulders and began to rub. In circles like how his mom used to do when he was younger and sick, feeling miserable. A sound from Iori, but he couldn't tell what it was. Eventually, the other's coughs subsided.

Blood on the floor, seeping into _tatami_.

"Yagami," he said, watching as Iori's tired eyes met his, "how are you feeling?"

The other man slumped against him by way of response.

"Do you need to sleep?"

"There's a…futon in the…" Another cough, misting crimson across Iori's palm. Kyo winced to see it. "Pillow, too."

The bedclothes and pillowcases needed laundering. He also had to remove the bloodstains from the _tatami_ , but maybe that was something Iori had advice for. Later, though. Removing his hand from Iori's back, Kyo moved towards the futon closet, slid open the door, and found the folded futon and pillow. There wasn't much space in the bedroom, since Iori's bed and desk took most of it. "Where should I –"

"Against the wall. Under the TV."

The space mentioned was narrow yet long and Kyo unrolled the futon, trying to avoid bunching the material against the wall and the foot of Iori's bed. Like his, Iori's futon was larger, probably custom-made to fit his height. Behind him, Iori's coughs had returned, sounds muffled.

A trip to the nearest convenience store after the laundromat wouldn't hurt.

"Yagami," Kyo said, walking back over to Iori, whose hand was clamped over his mouth. "The futon's ready."

Nodding – blood dripping between his fingers – Iori stood, unsteady. Kyo was ready to support him, if needed, but Iori was past him, moving towards the prepared futon on the floor. Drops of blood, red against white. By the time he looked away from the marked _tatami_ , Iori had tucked himself under the futon's comforter. There was a large smear of scarlet on the comforter's outer sheet. Iori had his eyes closed, hair spilling over his face.

Kyo listened to his breathing before he was reassured Iori was okay. Then, he left the bedroom, slipping into the bathroom to wash blood off his face. The pillows had been stained and some of it had gotten on him. Once he cleaned himself, he needed to put on some clothes, strip the bedding, and head for the closest laundromat. He hoped he had enough coins. That Iori had detergent for the bedding somewhere in the apartment.

Then, breakfast. Something easy on Yagami's stomach.

He exited the bathroom. Headed back to the bedroom.

* * *

It'd taken more than an hour between the washing and drying of the bedclothes and pillowcases, but it was finally done. Kyo had placed the folded sheets in the bag he'd found in Iori's apartment, rechecked how much was in his wallet, and slung the bag over his shoulder. There was a convenience store nearby, so Kyo headed there next. He already knew what he wanted to get for breakfast.

Instant _miso_ soup, since he wasn't much of a cook. Standard, anyway, for a Japanese breakfast and hot, which would help Iori. He found his favorite brand and threw a package in his basket. Went searching for the instant _okayu_ , which was more for Yagami, and upon finding it, took two packages. He also ordered some bite-sized fried chicken and got himself some coffee.

A simple meal, easily prepared.

He paid for his purchases and returned to the apartment, opening and closing the front door quietly. Slipped off his shoes and padded into the bedroom. Iori was still asleep, dried blood on the edge of his jaw.

Kyo left, closing the door behind him.

Entered the kitchen, placing the laundry bag on the side against the wall. He deposited the packages on the small counter and put his coffee and the fried chicken on the table. Removing two ceramic bowls from the dish rack, Kyo opened the _okayu_ packages and dumped the rice porridge in them. Put the first bowl in the tiny microwave and heated it up. Did the same with the second, which he then covered with a small plate to retain heat.

He mightn't cook, but he knew a bit from observing his mom.

For himself, he prepared his soup in a bowl. For Yagami, he used a mug, since he wasn't sure if Iori was well enough to hold a bowl and spoon. This, too, he covered. He wasn't sure how long Iori was going to sleep – the effects of the blood curse was taxing and this appeared to be a particularly bad bout – so waking him up was out of the question.

Kyo ate his breakfast in the kitchen, taking his time doing so. It was quiet and yet, already, he could hear the neighbors stirring. Osaka was readying for another day. A door closed here and there. Children giggling, followed by the sound of running rapid footsteps heading downstairs. Vehicles driving off. Kyo finished his soup, popped a piece of chicken in his mouth, and made for the main room and its window. Dawn was now morning matured by risen sunlight. A good day to be outside, enjoying the weather.

Maybe, if Iori felt up for it later, they could do the same.

Kyo returned to the kitchen to tidy up.

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

Iori, color better, squinted at him through bleary eyes. The man had thrown on his shirt from last night, along with a pair of gray sweatpants and looked out of place in his own kitchen. "You made breakfast?"

"Instant. You know I can't cook for shit."

"That's all mine?"

"Yeah. Had mine already. There's coffee, too. Left you half."

Iori pulled out the chair next to his and sat down. Uncovered the bowl and mug. Kyo saw his eyes light up at the fried chicken. The other man immediately tipped the contents of the plate into his bowl of rice porridge. Kyo snorted. Iori looked at him, already shoveling the first mouthful in.

"What's so funny?"

"Kinda knew you were gonna do that."

"It's _okayu_. How'd you think I was…" Another mouthful. Iori chewed briefly and then swallowed. "How would you eat it?"

"Not like that."

"You're not me." Iori placed the bowl down and reached for the mug of soup. Steam wafted from it. "Did some shopping?"

"Got the bedsheets and pillowcases laundered, too."

The mug was placed quietly on the table. "How much?"

"Don't worry about it." Kyo was pleased to see Iori's abundant appetite. "Feeling better now?"

"Yeah." With the warm food, Iori appeared stronger. "You didn't have to."

"Wanted to."

Kyo was aware of Iori's difficulty in common courtesies. Being brusque all the time to others besides him didn't lend to the nicer aspects of conversation. He sensed Iori wanted to thank him, but was unable to say so. Frustrating, but learning to read between the lines was going to be a part of this relationship; Kyo knew they both had to compromise on certain things to make it work. If Iori couldn't bring himself to vocalize standard politeness and yet was, Kyo was willing to meet him halfway.

Just like how Iori had to meet him halfway on other issues.

"Is it over, Yagami?"

Iori cleared his throat. Took a drink of soup from his mug. Waited. "Think so."

"You need anything else, I'll get it for you." Kyo stood. "Got your bed to make. Had to launder the sheets anyway."

Iori didn't respond to that. Simply drained his mug, watching him.

"Weather's good outside. Wanna go out later?"

"Not today. Just in case."

Kyo nodded. Maybe, that was for the best. "You want to do anything?"

"Just stay."

Sometimes, it really was that simple. "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys wanted a second hurt/comfort and the idea was with me all this week until I was able to get it written down. A take on the sickfic premise, in which Iori's not ill, just extremely uncomfortable due to his blood curse's physical side effects.
> 
> _Okayu_ is Japanese rice porridge, which is similar to its Chinese counterpart but not identical. The rice grains are left more apparent – not cooked to stickiness like the Chinese version – and the toppings are also different. It can be eaten as part of breakfast or also served to someone who is sick or unwell. I Googled a few websites for this, including recipes, to see what made it unique. Hence why I stuck with calling the dish by its Japanese name in this chapter, since it is _not_ the same as the Chinese or Korean variants.


	19. Commonalities

"108 Shiki Yamibarai." Kyo said this while leaning against him, forearm propped against his shoulder. "Always noticed yours looks the same. Never thought to ask if the names were identical." Smell of sweat, heated flesh, and blood. Their latest sparring bout ended in a draw, with Kyo drawing attention to similar techniques. Iori wasn't too surprised, since the Yasakani and Kusanagi clans were allies at one point. Still, it was intriguing to dig deeper.

"Except your flames are crimson and you swing your arm upward."

"Why the downward swing?" Kyo asked, genuine interest in his face. "Is it easier? Or you just did it to counter me?"

Iori scowled. "Came naturally. Just happened to be your opposite."

"You noticed everyone else's projectiles are airborne?"

"Yeah. Ground travel's rare." Iori shifted, giving Kyo more access to the broader plane of his shoulder. They stood beside a bridge, supporting themselves against the land-anchored base on their side of the river. It was quiet, flowing water the only accompaniment to it. "Your old man's comes out fast."

"He has experience."

"Maybe yours will be like his."

"Hmm." Kyo shifted his forearm lower, introducing fresh wrinkles to the middle of his upper sleeve. "And our upward flame spin technique?"

"100 Shiki Oniyaki."

"Huh. Same."

"So even after the split, my clan retained the technique names." Iori wondered if the ancestral records mentioned anything about that. "Maybe they didn't want to forget their beginning." Yet, the original Yasakani techniques were brutal and direct and nothing like the Kusanagi-style martial arts. Kyo had adjusted his, mixing what appeared to be some form of Chinese technique into it. It certainly made for more interesting practice sessions.

"Or they named these two together and just didn't change it."

"Even once the blood feud was declared?"

"Yeah." Kyo was all muscle and although Iori's own bruises ached, he didn't mind the extra pressure on his arm. "What would renaming them do? Just move on, right? Go after the clan you declared your mortal enemy."

Iori chuckled, for Kyo stated that last bit with levity. Old history now belonging to their long-dead ancestors. "You're still very bold. Both arms? Why? You trying to punch someone twice?"

Beside him, Kyo snorted. "Just because you got style –"

"So you admit it."

"Shut up."

They stood there in companionable silence, grateful for the lack of a crowd. This time, Iori had caught onto Kyo's high punch decoying the blow to the gut and while his cheek smarted, his abdomen didn't. A decent trade-off when it came to discomfort. With Kyo beside him like this post-fight, all of that didn't matter. He breathed in the clean warm air and exhaled.

"You know," Kyo said, tone hinting at a slight change in the topic at hand, "I believe we might share some other commonalities."

"Such as?"

"There's another technique that seems similar to yours. Mine is 212 Shiki Kototsuki You. You know…the one where I grab you and set you on fire in the air."

He remembered that technique well, having received burns from it multiple times before. Kyo had a knack for seizing close range opportunities, setting many opponents aflame in the past. It did surprise him, though, how identical their differing techniques were in name. "212 Shiki Kototsuki In for mine."

"In, huh?"

"It's different enough." Whereas Kyo's grab went high, his pushed others to the ground, setting them afire only then. Kyo had also been the recipient of that technique in the past. He was savvier now and more so ever since they started sparring, sharpening skills and also observation. Iori wasn't able to pull off that particular technique so much now, since Kyo no longer fell for it.

Then again, Kyo wasn't as successful now, either.

If they were aware of each other's body language and tells before in a fight, becoming the best of sparring partners increased that. If they ever had to fight against someone together now, the other was in for a rude awakening. Would be lucky to leave alive, whole, and unscorched.

Iori lifted a hand and rubbed his nose, which itched. "Your three-hit technique back during your NESTS days is a bit like mine."

"Which one of yours?"

"127 Shiki Aoihana. My three-hit."

"Oh." Kyo made a face, which was amusing. " _That_ one."

"Yeah, _that_ one." Many an unfortunate soul had reason to dread his Aoihana, which Iori used to open his opponents up like cracking nuts with a hammer. "I don't see yours anymore, but that final hit with the flame hurts." Kyo's, like his, also had the added benefit of knocking others to the ground. "What'd you call it?"

"Aragami Konokizu Yanosabi."

"That's a mouthful."

"Between the 108 and 100 Shiki techniques, it's not that bad." Kyo shrugged, inducing a pleasant sensation against his arm. "You probably have some ridiculously long technique names, too. What about those fancy ones?"

"They're long, but nothing like that."

Kyo scoffed, but it was light and playful. "Right."

Still quiet without an audience. Perfect. "You up for another round?"

"Yeah. Just gimme a sec."

He could spare seconds. Minutes, even. "You know, Kyo…if Orochi tries to come back…we'll be ready."

"Kagura-san will be there this year. Don't sweat it."

"I'm not. Just saying we're better prepared this time."

"And together. Unlike before."

Together in a stronger way that Orochi and his followers probably wouldn't comprehend. It might make all the difference, though. "Kyo?"

"Hmmm?"

"Bring your ancestral records next time. Wanna check something out."

"You going all scholarly?"

"Why not?" He grinned. "Your recorded play, too, if it's finished."

"Should've let you make the call."

"Told ya." Iori laughed when Kyo punched him lightly in mock offense. "You seem ready. Come on, Kyo. Again. 108 Shiki – whatever you've got. Bring it."

"Gladly."

Warm air, warm sky, and warm skin leaving his. He stepped away from the bridge, cracked his neck and eased into stance. Met Kyo's challenging gaze and smirked in return. Violet flames in his hand – stab of pain quickly suppressed – and it was on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I let 'Anchor' percolate for a while since its last update, since there are intended character arcs being planned out. I felt like after the last two chapters, which were a bit heavier in feel, I needed something lighter (a breather). So I threw all matter of choices at the boys in my mind and let them decide. A few days ago, I sensed/heard mentally "108 Shiki". 108 Shiki, I knew, was one of their moves in-game and eventually, I realized Kyo and Iori wanted to do a comparison of similar techniques.
> 
> This meant going to YouTube to do some research by studying movelist videos. The games I mainly referenced for Kyo and Iori were King of Fighters XIII official character videos (Iori with Flames, KoF XIII Kyo, and NESTS Kyo) and King of Fighters '97 just to cross-check. It was fascinating to notice not only how they shared the same technique names for certain moves, but also how their grabs with flame finishers had only one major difference in how it ended. Eye-opening stuff. I did get a similar vibe for the last move they both mentioned (their three-hit technique with final knockdown), although they don't look alike. Almost makes me want to get the games again and start playing, because it's fun and research, haha.
> 
> Please note that Iori's three-hit with knockdown on his official KoF XIII video names it as 127 Shiki Aoibana; however, most sources I see online have always called this move Aoihana (Deadly Flower), so I kept the common move name.
> 
> Kyo's woeful attempt at a play is next (LOL!). Should be fun. :)


	20. The Play

" _Lend me thy handkerchief."_ Propped up on Iori's desk against some of their bound ancestral records was his phone, on which his recorded take on an abridged Othello played on. Kyo had decided to pick the best parts – not the boring beginning stuff – and so far, Iori hadn't said anything. Then again, Othello the character wasn't difficult to act. Desdemona was a different story.

_"Here, my lord."_

Iori snorted at his falsetto, fingers stopping on the page he was reading from. It was one of the earlier Kusanagi chronicles, falling around the time period when their clans became enemies. Since Kyo couldn't read it, his dad confirmed this for him. "A demure maiden you are not."

"Because I'm not?"

"Not pretty enough for it, either."

Sitting on Iori's bed, Kyo leaned forward and smacked his shoulder.

_"That's a_ _**fault** _ _**.** That handkerchief / _ _**Did** _ _an Egyptian to my mother_ _**give** _ _**.** She was a charmer, and could almost read…"_

Iori visibly winced. "Why are you stressing it _there_?"

"Because the guy's pissed off?"

"But why there? You –"

"'Cause it sounds right? Got more incoming."

Iori, who'd given him this challenge, had the best look of trepidation on his face Kyo had ever seen. Kyo couldn't refrain from smirking.

_"Most veritable. Therefore, look to 't well. /_ _**Then would to God that I had never seen 't!** _ _"_

Iori grimaced as if he'd tasted something awful. "She's exclaiming it, not shouting it, Kyo. You turned a Venetian maiden into…"

"But she's unhappy about it, right? They're having an argument."

"Doubt she'd be all into physical confrontation." For on the recorded video which continued playing, Kyo had stepped forward on that shouted line to stress his point. After all, if he was Desdemona, he'd be riled about this handkerchief and why Othello doubted and so on and so forth. Being pretty, proper and quiet just didn't…it wasn't his style.

"Tell me your class didn't choose you for the play."

"You're in luck. Was always asleep in class, so –"

"You spared their ears."

That warranted another smack on Iori's shoulder, which the man shrugged off.

_"Fetch me the handkerchief! My mind misgives."_

"You know…that Iago guy's quite something."

"Revenge served cold."

"All because he wasn't chosen as Othello's right hand."

"Got his comeuppance in the end." Iori's face made some interesting expressions while watching his acting on the phone screen. "What the hell are you doing, Kyo? He's not…you strutted out of the…"

"He exited, right?"

"He stalked out of there, not…" Iori groaned, which brought another smirk to Kyo's face. "I'd prefer you flounced out of there."

"Oh, so you want me flouncing now?"

Iori, fingers still on the page, made a face at him. "Tell me you did a good job on Iago."

"Why don't you listen? He's next."

_"Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon / When it hath blown his ranks into the air…"_

"It's passable," Iori said, begrudgingly. Kyo took it as a minor victory. "You didn't butcher him."

"Come to think of it…you can act him."

"Why?"

"Seems your type. Dramatic, angry –"

"Tricky and murderous. You trying to tell me something, Kyo?"

"Just think you can play him. Better than I can."

"He is interesting." Interspersed between watching the recording and making faces at some of his clunky delivery, Iori's attention kept returning to the volume on his desk. "Think I found something, Kyo."

"Oh?" He got off the bed and leaned in over Iori's shoulder. "What is it?"

Iori removed one of the volumes from the stack – it was one of the Yasakani chronicles – and flipped it to the middle of the book. Leaned back, long fingers pinning down a particular section in both books. "This is when the division occurred. It's towards the end of the Kamakura shogunate."

"1300s." He could read the numbers in both volumes. "What else?"

"The perfidy of the Kusanagi clan regarding the murder of our headman's wife shall stand as the reason for the choice we will make."

"We didn't murder anyone's wife."

"From your ancestral records, it says this: 'The treachery of the Yasakani clan in siding with our eternal enemy – for reasons unexplained – without any remorse, shall hereforth declare them our mortal enemy. All attempts at reconciliation prior to this have failed.'"

"Who murdered her?"

"Who knows?" Iori shrugged. "This doesn't show up in your clan's record, but it does for mine. 'While we disdain that certain techniques are shared with the Kusanagi clan, they shall remain as is. The Yasakani clan, now renamed as the Yagami clan, has other pressing matters to attend to.'"

"Other pressing matters. Declaring the blood feud?"

"Think that was done already. Perhaps the war got started next."

"Our ancestors had such great priorities."

 _"Lie?"_ His voice coming from his phone, with him trying to put on a serious yet devious expression. It changed immediately to disbelief, since he was now playing Othello. _"With her?"_

"Iago spreading his poison," Iori said, closing both volumes and placing them back on the stack. "Convincing Othello his pure bride is a whore."

"He's a wonderful villain, isn't he?"

_"Lie with her? Lie on her? We say 'lie on her' / when they belie her."_

"So many classical words, though."

"You still managed. Although…" Iori reached out and took hold of his phone. "It explains why you mangled so much of it."

"Not everyone's a scholar like you."

"Pity."

"You sound like Shakespeare now. Come on – gimme a few Iago lines."

_"Good sir, be a_ _**man** _ _**!** / Think every bearded fellow that's but yoked / May draw with _ _**you** _ _**.** "_

"Your choice of stresses are still awful, Kyo."

Kyo took his phone from Iori, who proffered it to him. While his falsettos amused Iori, his decision to emphasize certain words and doing badly at it appeared to be Iori's last straw. "Regret giving me this?"

"Never."

"Hmm. Yagami," he said, drawing Iori's attention solely to him. "I'll be getting the contract by end of this week. Hit the bar next Tuesday?"

It was gratifying to see the sudden flush of color suffusing Iori's face. "So soon?"

"Yeah. We should be receiving those mysterious invites shortly, so…"

"I'll see you there. Same as last time."

_"I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest…"_

"Lay down my soul at stake." Iori picking up, not with a falsetto, but with his own voice, deep and solemn. "If you think other, / Remove your thought."

"That's cheating." Kyo shut off the recording, so he could hear more of Iori's recitation. "Should match it to mine."

"…For if she be not honest, chaste, and true, / There's no man happy."

"Good thing you're not Othello."

"Or Iago."

"Still think you should play him. You know the one about the mad king?"

"Lear? Yeah. You can play the Fool to my Lear." Iori rose from his chair in one smooth motion. Pushed the chair inward. "Unless…"

"Lear does suit you."

"Because he's mad?"

"Yeah. Hey…is that why I'm the Fool?"

"You are an idiot sometimes." Iori said this without irony, amusement in his eyes. His flush from before was gone. "He has some of the best lines."

"Ah, good. So you're not insulting me."

"Wouldn't think of it." A smile from Iori, which was becoming less of a rarity. "We're no longer dueling families. Or petty vengeance-fueled men. We're beyond all that."

"All the girls in my class loved Romeo and Juliet."

"Unless you're trying to doom us from the start –"

"That's why I didn't choose it."

"Good." Iori leaned over and kissed him, initiating this time. When they both came back up for air, Iori's tone was deliberately dry. "You'd make a terrible Juliet."

"So you're Romeo now?"

"Tch." Iori scoffed. "Rather play Tybalt."

"He dies, too."

"Still better."

"Then, I'll be Mercutio."

"Didn't realize you –"

His returning kiss cut off Iori's words and from the other's ensuing reaction, had redirected his thoughts. "Don't mind being killed in a play." Then, he stopped talking, for they had better things to do.

Iori seemed to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The version of the Othello play I'm referencing for the lines quoted in this chapter comes from the Folger Shakespeare Library. The PDF which is available on the Internet is: https://shakespeare.folger.edu/downloads/pdf/othello_PDF_FolgerShakespeare.pdf


	21. Relaxation

After spending his morning at the local government office dealing with estate matters, Iori wanted a quiet lunch and something strong to drink. His favorite bar sufficed in both, so he headed downtown via subway. Taking a window seat, he kept his gaze directed at the floor – the train was full but not crowded – and thought about the following week. Kyo's contract for the new sponsor was being signed in full and it was the first major event they were going to celebrate together.

A new milestone so early in their relationship. It was, strangely enough, quite astonishing. Celebrating anything with Kyo seemed…. It would've been impossible even a year ago.

Artificial and natural light suffused the train with warmth and brightness. Someone coughed, muffling the sound. Sneakers and sandals within his periphery. Shopping bags besides other seated riders and a few briefcases belonging to salarymen. Perhaps it was the lunch hour for everyone else as well. The real drinking wouldn't begin until after corporate work hours and those were sometimes mandatory. While he didn't belong to the suits and skyscrapers world, Iori wasn't ignorant of what occurred behind those glass windows.

He was just glad he wasn't a part of the tedium.

His stomach rumbled. Something heavier than the bar's lighter starter plates, then. Maybe an assortment of whiskeys could work as well. He slotted those away in his mind, closed his eyes, and let the easy movement of the train coax him into a mild nap. He put all thoughts of paperwork aside and allowed himself to relax.

His day was just getting started, after all.

* * *

"One _karaage_. Also one of the small plain pizzas."

"Your usual for the drink?" It was quiet right now, being afternoon, and the bartender began preparing his food. "Or is it something different today?"

"What's your best Japanese whisky?"

The bartender set two plates on the counter for his starters, retrieved a particular bottle, and brought it over. "I recommend the Hakushu 12 Year Old. Single malt."

"Suntory, huh?" The green glass bottle had clean and simple labels. "Give me a shot."

The small glass was quickly set in front of him. Iori picked it up and studied the liquor's color. It was pale gold in the light and beautifully clear. He sniffed it, catching smokiness beneath a slight fruity aroma. Intrigued, he downed the shot, anticipating the usual burn. The first thing that struck him was the malty flavor with a fruity undertone. However, it kept evolving – the flavors were complex – and a single shot glass wasn't enough.

He put the glass down. "I'll have one neat."

The bartender smiled. "I'll bring your food, too."

Iori placed one arm on the counter and glanced around. The place was relatively sedate right now – he saw a few customers here and there – and it suited his mood just fine. Behind him, the soft clink of plates and he turned back to find his _karaage_ and pizza. The bartender served him his whisky, the pale color transparent in the bar's ambient lighting.

The sound of the front door opening. The bartender left.

Hungry and even more so now with food in front of him, Iori went for the bar's specialty _karaage_ first. The fried chicken was a perfect opener and he preferred eating it hot. The pizza could wait, and he intended to savor it with the Hakushu 12 Year Old. It reminded him of an Irish whiskey he favored, but he couldn't pinpoint it right at this moment.

After demolishing the chicken, he settled back on his bar stool, relaxing. Reaching inside his jacket's inner pocket, he withdrew his two name stamps and held them in his hand. Ever since his inheritance of the clan at a younger age, Iori always had these with him. Imperative if he needed documents signed and he wasn't sure which ones the official would've presented him with today. As it turned out, the formal name stamp was necessary.

He put the informal one down on the counter. It only had his surname, for he doubted many others used the same characters. The small block of carved black stone gleamed, corners crisp and sharp.

Iori placed his formal name stamp down beside the other one and reached for his whisky. Took a sip and waited for the flavors to unfold on his tongue and in the back of his throat. Next to the black stone stamp, the rock crystal one bearing his entire name was simple yet expensive. One thing the Yagami clan never worried about was money. The other thing was being classy in an understated way; he only aligned with that principle occasionally.

The whisky was good. Great, in fact. He took another sip and then started on his pizza. Soon, his hunger disappeared, soothed by hot food and excellent liquor. As he'd mentioned to Kyo, the bartender here had merit. Introducing this one to Kyo wouldn't go amiss. Sitting with his back to the counter, glass in hand, he enjoyed his drink. Let it mellow on his tongue.

Time passed – a comfortable shifting of hours – and it was nearing four in the afternoon when he finished his second glass of whisky. "I'll open with my usual next Tuesday evening, but I'll ask for this one afterwards."

The bartender wiped his hands. "Ah. It's an interesting change for you."

"A suggestion was made to me. It was a good one."

"Will you be by yourself?"

Iori pocketed his informal name stamp and studied the careful carving of his name on the formal one. "No."

"Tell me what you need and I'll have it for you."

He nodded. Put the second name stamp into his pocket, nestling it beside the other one and a sealed container of red paste. "If you have other whiskies like that, we'll be sampling them that night."

"I'll have a list of recommendations, Yagami-san."

That was all he needed to hear. Iori paid his bill and left the bar. The day wasn't over yet – wind and sunshine and the possibility of seeing wandering strays – and he wasn't ready to go home. Wanted to remain outside until the sun set and then take a night train back. His home city in the evening carried a different lively character and he was, sometimes, a part of it.

He stretched. Decided to restock his groceries and purchase some backup guitar strings just in case.

The back of his neck prickled – a sudden instinctual warning.

Surprised, he looked around the area. Nothing seemed off, but his senses wouldn't lie to him. Best action to take would be to leave and go elsewhere, away from this unseen threat. He didn't want to deal with anything weightier than government paperwork today.

A pleasant breeze blew by, warmed by the overhanging sun.

Iori glanced over his shoulder and departed the vicinity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did some research into Japanese whisky brands and the Hakushu 12 Year Old single malt by Suntory kept showing up on recommended lists. Apparently, it was also discontinued (yet, is coming back as a limited release in March this year), so if anyone still has a bottle today, the price would go for a premium. There are some other contenders, but I'll bring those up later if necessary. I did Google what the whisky looked like in a glass and it was this beautiful pale gold. I also referred to four websites regarding this whisky:
> 
> •https://www.timeout.com/tokyo/news/suntory-single-malt-whisky-hakushu-12-year-returns-after-it-was-discontinued-two-years-ago-012021
> 
> •https://flaviar.com/hakushu/hakushu-12-year-old-single-malt-whisky/tasting-notes-reviews
> 
> •https://www.esquire.com/food-drink/drinks/a27466729/best-japanese-whiskey-bottles/
> 
> •https://vinepair.com/buy-this-booze/15-best-japanese-whiskey-brands-bottles/


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